


In your care

by MadameMeduse



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Death, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eskel Loves Jaskier, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier loves Eskel, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Medical Trauma, POV Eskel (The Witcher), POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Scars, Slow Burn, child jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMeduse/pseuds/MadameMeduse
Summary: A fic about how Jaskier and Eskel met for the first and the second time in their lives - going through hurt and healing together.In Part 1, Eskel investigates the dark secrets of a boarding school and finds himself confronted with a very determined, but very sad boy with startling blue eyes.In Part 2, Jaskier learns how Eskel got his nasty scars and discovers he might be too late to save the man that once changed his life.In Part 3, Eskel and Jaskier are bonding slowly, but it's hard for both of them to accept it for different reasons.In Part 4, the travelers arrive at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier finds it hard to adjust to living in the keep. Eskel wants to help, but then something unexpected happens.In Part 5, Eskel and Jaskier have a talk and end up in one bed cuddling, until Lambert is...Lambert.In Part 6, Jaskier finally decides to make his move in the sweetest possible way.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 37
Kudos: 79





	1. Eskel

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers, please consider the tags before you start to read this story. This will be a dark journey, but as I am know to be quite a romantic, I hope this turns out right for the boys.
> 
> Kudos and comments are cherished and will be kissed on the monitor! :)

_Redania in the year 1235_

The Arc Coast in summer was a beautiful place. The coastline merged the bottle green ocean and bright blue sky into an enchanting duality of infinity. Seagulls drifted over the Eskel's head as he knelt down in the soft white sand and turned the shredded body to examine it.

It was a young boy, probably not older than eight years. Predators of the land and the sea had begun to feed on the limp form, tearing away flesh and clothing, but the wounds that had caused the child's death were still recognizable.

„Drowners, right?“ The alderman's voice shook and he gulped heavily, trying hard not to vomit. The Witcher nodded solemnly. His hands were very careful as he took the boy's arms and crossed them over the child's shredded chest.

„Yes. You know him?“, Eskel asked and leaned down one last time to verifying if he hadn't overlooked any details. And there they were, small red imprints in the bloated flesh of the boy's wrists. Bondage marks.

The Witcher's face darkened and he rose to his impressive height, staring down into the alderman's crinkled face. Eskel smelled the man's fear, but there was no lie as the elder croaked:

„None of our boys. But you should visit the school and see if they know something.“

Durhaven was a village at the gulf of Praxeda, renowned for dried fish and the boarding school for noble younglings, run by the church of Kreve. The priests worshipped the god of power and expansion and they believed that it was their duty to fight evil of all kinds– everything that had come after the conjunction of the spheres and wasn't human.

Eskel sighed and cleaned his gloved hands on his trousers. This was not going to be easy for him, as most clerics of Kreve considered Witchers to be the spawn of evil, too. On normal days, he didn't care about the hate he was confronted with, but investigating the death of a child left him shaken, although it wouldn't show on his face.

“I will see if they miss a pupil. Then I will come back and take care of the Drowners. And the body, if the priests don't know the boy.”

The alderman didn't bargain as Eskel named his price. The old man was keen to get to a favourable arrangement that would protect the local fishermen from the monsters lurking in the water. Soon, the Witcher mounted Duke, his new apple grey stallion and rode off to find the boarding school.

It was easy, as it was the largest building in Durhaven. The large fortified building had been erected on a landslope and towered over the village and the dunes. As Eskel approached, he could see a large number of boys working in the courtyard and the gardens, tending the plants and repairing the walls. The school building was ancient and crumbling and as the Witcher dismounted Duke, he was able to look into young sunburnt faces turning on him one by one.

They were afraid of him. He knew it before the scent of fear and disgust hit his senses. Eskel signed and braced himself for what was about to happen.

A priest who had been supervising the works on the main gate approached him, making the sign of the lightning over his chest. He was in his late forties and dressed in the formal red and white robes of the Kreve church, but the scars on his face and hands gave away he had been a fighter once. Maybe he had been a part of the Order of the White Rose, the military arm of the church.

“What can I do for you, Witcher? I am Father Cilian, the headmaster.” The man sounded calm and polite, but there was open aversion mirroring in his hard eyes.

“I found a body at the beach. Killed by Drowners. Do you miss one of your pupils?”

The priest cleared his throat. It was no surprise that he suddenly avoided Eskel's gaze and focused on the pupils who had stopped working and just stared at the two men.

“Boys, head back inside and wait for me at the dorm”, the priest barked and his dependants followed obediently, hurrying into the school without hesitation. But Eskel noticed that one of the pupils turned to look at him. The dark haired boy was on the brink of adulthood, all long limbs and no idea how to control them properly yet. He had startling blue eyes and these eyes held no fear at all, but genuine curiosity.

The Witcher blinked in surprise and as he found the boy gone, he focused on Father Cilian again.

“Listen”, the priest grinded his teeth and his large hands clenched into fists. “You have no authority here. So I recommend you leave this town immediately.”

“I am here on the alderman's invite. Are you threatening me?”, Eskel asked calmly and folded his arms over his broad chest. He knew the spikes on his short gambeson were threatening enough, so there was no need to raise his voice. “Because I ask you about a dead child? That's not very caring, priest.”

“How I care about this world and its inhabitants is my god's choice alone, Witcher. There is no boy missing from this school”, Cilian spat and Eskel hummed in contentment. The priest was lying and now the Witcher had the proof, as he sensed the acid smell of deceit emanating from the human's body. But he also heard the unmistakable sound of a crossbow string under tension and as he looked up, he saw another priest standing on the wall, aiming at him. 

The Witcher knew he hadn't his brother Geralt's unique ability to evade projectiles, so he rose his hands and stepped back.

“I have my answer”, he said drily and dared to turn away, waiting for the bolt to hit him in the back. But it never happened and as he mounted his horse again, relief washed over him. He knew he needed to come back to find proof on the dead boy's identity and it would be better to do it without a piece of wood piercing his body.

Eskel was a patient man. He had always been silent and kind and not even the Witcher Trials he had been enduring had been able to change that. His younger brother Lambert had always been mocking him for his sense of justice, telling him that it wasn't a Witcher's job to get involved into human lices, but only to exist and complete the tasks they had been created for.

Eskel allowed himself to take another point of view. He had been born into a tribe of the Mountain people and it was his kin's tradition to care about every generation, but especially for the children. He didn't remember much of his early childhood, only the warm feeling of comfort and a distant lullaby his mother had sung to him when he had been sad. But even though his family had given him away to be a Witcher, he had sworn to himself that he would never lose his ability to be a compassionate person. This was his treasure. This was him.

He rode into town, put Duke into the stables and went to the small room the innkeeper of the “Great Gebe” had been preparing for him. The war veteran wasn't happy to host a Witcher, but he had respected the alderman's wishes and even provided food and a jug of apple wine.

Eskel ate without noticing what he consumed and prepared for the hunt, choosing the right potions and oil to coat his two swords. The innkeeper provided a shovel when the Witcher asked for it and then Eskel returned to the dunes to do what he to be done.

The Witcher chose a place next to a bush of yellow horned poppies and buried the boy's body there. He didn't know if he would be able find out the child had a family. But if there were relatives, they would at least have place to visit and mourn properly.

Finding the Drowner's nest was easy, he just had to follow the remains of animal carcasses to the nearby cliffside. A small cave opened into the rough underworld of the coast and the Witcher gulped down a portion of the Cat potion before entering.

The fight was short, but nasty. There were six creatures and they lunged at him without hesitation. He had heard them coming and decapitated one of them with a powerful blow before the other Drowners reached him. Eskel's world blurred into an panopticon of grey as his body moved through the sequences he had been practising over and over again until they had become a part of his personality.

Body parts and fluids splattered over the moist ground of the cave and when it was finally done, Eskel tumbled back into the daylight again, shielding his eyes with his hand. He legs trembled a bit and as he looked down, he discovered the two gashes on his thigh, just below his gambeson's hemline.

“I hate this day”, he sighed and gulped down a portion of Swallow before carelessly bandaging his leg. His stallion shot him an unimpressed glance as Eskel hobbled towards him and mounted, suppressing a wince. The sun had already begun to touch the horizon, turning the smooth ocean surface into a glazing of gold and red.

The alderman waited for him at the taproom of the “Great Gebe” and was relieved to hear that the Drowner's had been dealt with. He handed over the purse with 300 crowns without hesitation.

“And the boy?”, the old man asked cautiously. “Have you been at the school?”

“I have”, Eskel confirmed angrily and the alderman's eyes widened with fear. “They say that there's no child missing.”

The alderman shrugged.

“So it was probably just a stray orphan or something”, he said. There was only little pity in his voice, mostly relief that the matter had been resolved. Eskel pressed his lips and turned away to return to his room. He knew better. The boy's clothes had been far to expensive for a homeless. The boy had been a pupil at the boarding school and he would prove it.

But first of all, he had to treat his wounds and come up with a plan. The priests certainly knew they were under suspicion and would take precautions. Sitting on the bed and redoing his bandages, the Witcher thought about a way to get into the school later that night. He could try to get on the roof of the small hut he had seen in the school garden and then jump the wall. But there was a chance that they would be waiting for him, crossbows ready. So maybe -.

Silent footsteps approached and stopped right in front of the room. Nothing happened. Eskel rose to his feet and checked the dagger he had tied to his waist, just in case the visitor wasn't friendly. He sneaked through the room and flung the door open in a swift movement.

A yelp rang through the air and a hooded figure stumbled over the threshold, dropping onto hands and knees. The hood of the visitor's cloak fell in the moment the Witcher had unsheathed his dagger, ready to bury it into the other person's body.

The blue eyed youth he had met at the school stared at him, numb with shock of being caught in the act.

“Please, don't kill me”, the boy stammered, voice high pitched, reminding the Witcher that the visitor was young enough to still battle his pubertal voice change. “I just wanted to -.”

“Did your parents fail to teach you that eavesdropping is impolite?”, Eskel asked with a kind smile he couldn't suppress and closed the door again. He slid the dagger back into its sheath. “Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you.”

“I am relieved”, the boy huffed and pushed himself back on his feet. He brushed some strands of his chestnut brown hair from his forehead. “I just came to tell you the headmaster lied to you today.”

There was a torn expression in the boy's eyes that made Eskel cringe. He felt an instant sympathy for the human who stood there, hands clenched into fists, fighting his fear to be alone with a Witcher who had threatened him moments before.

“What's your name?”, Eskel asked with his most reassuring voice and the young visitor bowed slightly.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, the Viscount Lettehove. At you service.” A young noble who knew how to express himself and behave properly, despite of his young age.

“My name is Eskel. And I know the man lied to me. Can you tell me why?”

To Eskel's surprise, the boy's head dropped and his brave posture crumbled. The Witcher could smell the tears before they started falling. He could also sense something else, old blood and hidden pain.

“I should have told someone earlier. But I was so afraid and I thought nobody would care anyway”, Julian hiccuped and brushed away his tears with shaky hands. “Was the boy – blonde? Around eight years old?” Eskel nodded silently and Julian's eyes suddenly went ablaze with fury. The sudden change of emotions took the Witcher aback. He hadn't had a normal childhood, so he couldn't recall or even understand the emotional turmoil of a normal human adolescence. But he understood that this human was suffering so hard he was on the edge of a mental breakdown. “His name was Devan. He ran away two nights ago. When we heard they found a body I hoped -.”

“Why did he run away?” Eskel handed Julian a glass of apple wine to calm the boy's senses. “Was it because of the bondage marks I found on his wrists?”

The boy gulped down the wine and coughed as he choked on the sharp taste of alcohol. His hands still shook as he set the tankard back onto the table.

“They – tell us that fighting evil starts with facing the weakness within ourselves”, Julian whispered and stared at the dirty floor. “They hate laughter and friendship and music. Everything that's good in this world. And they punish us for wanting that. Most of the parent's agree on the way the priests treat us.” Eskel's breath hitched as the boy slowly pulled down the collar of his tunic, revealing a fresh cut on his pale white shoulder. “I know you are a Witcher. My parents are rich. I saved some money. I can pay you to kill the priests.”

Julian's face was so desperate that the Witcher was willing to give into the plea for a second. 

“I am not a murderer, boy. I am a monster hunter”, he rumbled and crossed his arms over his chest, knowing it could be easily read a a defensive gesture. He could almost hear Lambert's usual sneer in his head, telling him he was an idiot.

“They are monsters, Eskel”, Julian murmured hoarsely. “And they need to pay. Devan was so small. He couldn't stand it so he ran away and he died when he met the Drowners. It's like they killed him with their own hands.”

The Witcher ran his fingers through his dark hair and exhaled deeply.

“Is it all of the teachers?”, he asked and felt his jaw clenching. The boy sighed and shook his head.

“Most of them hit us, but it's Keres, our fencing teacher, who's the worst of them. The headmaster covers his tracks. There was another boy who died a year ago. The headmaster sent a letter to the parents telling them their son had died from a disease and that they couldn't see him again.” Julian barked a laugh and he sounded like a much older man now, worn out by the pain that was part of his life. The dull expression in the boy's eyes reminded Eskel of the many children he had seen after they had been forced to endure the Witcher Trials. “I mean, there are ugly injuries when you hang yourself.”

There was something in Julian's voice, in the silent narration that touched Eskel deeper than it should. He tried to tell himself that his work was done and that it would be wise to take his coin and leave Durhaven as soon as possible. But he couldn't.

“You saw they threatened to shoot me today?”, Eskel asked solemnly and the youth nervously bit his lip. Julian clearly anticipated that the Witcher would turn him down. “So I guess I will need to get in without being seen. How did you sneak out?”

The boy's delicate features lit with a perverted joy Eskel didn't like at all. Even though he had been robbed of a normal childhood and even though most humans thought that breaking children with a cane wouldn't do them any harm, the Witcher knew better.

“There is a tunnel between our cellar and an old fountain at the village border. A relic from the times when the school has been sort of a fortress. So, will you come and kill them?”

“No”, Eskel shook his head. His smile was crooked and unhappy. How old had he been when he had killed his first human? Fifteen? He didn't recall the exact moment, but he still remembered the man's pained face. “I don't want your life as an adult to start with murder. You will never forget about it. It will haunt you until your dying day. You deserve more than that.”

The youth's face dropped again and he hugged himself with his slender arms. A shiver ran through his body despite of the the warmth of the summer evening.

“Alright”, the boy mumbled. “But what are you planning?”

The Witcher had to admit that he didn't exactly knew what to do. Messing with the church of Kreve and the Order of the White Rose was a bad idea that could endanger all of the Wolf Witchers on the Continent. The priests and knights weren't exactly friendly when it came to Witchers, but most of then just ignored the mutants, as both groups were fighting monsters as their mutual enemy.

Eskel thought about Vesemir, his former fighting instructor, now mentor of the three Wolves of Kear Morhen that were still alive. What would the old man say when he learned about this? And Geralt, who had a knight's heart, but tried to hide it behind a wall of silence? Well, Eskel knew _exactly_ what Lambert would yell at him if he found out.

“Talking, first”, the Witcher said and sheathed his swords. “Most violent people have been a victim of violence, too. They just don't know better. Some of them learn when they are confronted with their own history of powerlessness. Others – don't. We will see what they'll do.”

The thoughtful boy had brought a lantern and soon they found their way through the dark, moss covered passage between the old well and the school building. Eskel found it hard to stand the aura of fear that surrounded young Julian like a looming cloud. As they slipped into the cellar, the boy went rigid and leaned on the dusty shelf that had hidden the secret tunnel.

“What if they don't listen?”, he breathed, his face pale as linen. “What if it goes on and on? If you can't stop them? I don't know if I - . I am such a coward.”

“No, you're not. You are a victim. And it's not your fault that you were frightened. Never forget that.” Eskel's rage burnt like a flame, steady and low, but ready to turn into an inferno any time he would meet resistance. “You will emerge from this as a survivor. And you will lead a good life. With laughter and friendship and music. Promise me.”

The boy's lips quivered.

“I promise. But I need to go with you. There is no survival without a fight”, Julian insisted stubbornly, but the Witcher could see the naked terror in the youth's eyes.

“Just tell me where your fencing teacher and the headmaster sleep and I will care about the rest”, Eskel pushed for Julian's understanding, but he saw how reluctantly the boy behaved. He needed to make sure that the youth wouldn't commit any severe mistake now, desperate and agitated as he was.

“Julian”, Eskel hummed and formed the sign of Axii with his hand. “You will tell my what I need to know. Then you will sneak back into your dorm and wait there. If you feel you and the other boys are in any danger, you will wake them and lead them to a safe place. You understand?”

Dull blue eyes stared at him, suddenly veiled by the power of Eskel's inherent magic. The Witcher hated to witness the loss of the spark of life in Julian's gaze, but he knew he had to keep the boy safe at any cost.

“First floor. Second door and third door on the right side after the stairs”, the boy whispered, swaying on his feet. Eskel gently hugged the frail body for a second before he sent Julian away with a soft shove. The boy's steps faded away on the basement stairs, leaving Eskel in the darkness.

The Witcher asked himself again if he was making a mistake, but his heart had already made a decision. He had been broken already, he wouldn't allow the same to happen to any child in this school ever again. Even it would cost his life. He just hoped his family would understand.

The first door he opened after sneaking up the stairs to the upper corridor led him into the headmaster's chamber. The priest was still awake and bent over some books on his desk in the mild light of several candles. His eyes widened with disbelief as he recognized who had invaded his room. Seconds later, Eskel's scarred underarm pinned the man to the wall. Father Cilian gasped for breath and went limp as the Witcher casted Axii again.

“You will go to the Alderman and confess that you knew about the abuse. You will tell him everything about your schemes and ask him to turn you in to a higher authority. Do you understand?”

Cilian blinked and tilted his head, his body slack like a sleepwalker's.

“I understand”, he stammered and stumbled out of the door as soon as Eskel released him. The Witcher felt the burning need to wash his hands after this encounter, but he knew he wasn't finished yet. His head spun with future scenarios, but the crossbow bolt that hit him in the left shoulder as he left Cilian's room wasn't something he had expected or even anticipated. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs, even as the wound was a minor one for a Witcher. Groaning, he sunk against the doorframe and quickly retreated into the coverage of the chamber a second before another bolt hit splintering wood.

He was trapped and he knew the only logical choice he had was waiting. The corridor was too narrow for an effective swordfight. Going out there now would be suicide. But it would distract the attacker and other witnesses quite effectively. As long as they were trying to kill him, none of them would follow Father Cilian on his way to the village and try to revoke the spell.

The bolt that stuck in his shoulder cracked as he broke the shaft with a quick movement. Eskel knew he needed to leave the metallic head of the projectile where it was or he would bleed out too quickly. The sharp pain fuelled his anger and he gulped down another potion, the third one on this miserable day. He chose Blizzard, hoping the enhancement of his reflexes and reaction time would help him to reach the assailant in time.

The potion burst through his veins as he drew his steel sword and lunged out of the room, relying to his senses to detect where the shooter had taken position. He saw the man exactly where he had assumed him to be, hiding behind a pillar that sustained the wooden beam ceiling. It was the same person who had threatened him during his first visit at the school. And he was aiming at Eskel again, bolt already vibrating on the string.

The Witcher ran and he heard the sharp sound of the string hitting the wood of the projectile, but he was faster than the man made weapon. The wave of Aard he threw hit the bolt as well as the stone pillar, hurling a shower of razor sharp wood and stone fragments through the air.

The priest let out a muffled sound and fell down to the floor. A large shard of stone had penetrated his neck and blood splattered from the ruptured veins, tainting the walls and the floor. Eskel staggered closer and bent down to face the wounded man.

“Your name?”, he rasped weakly, torn apart by the pain of his wounds and the circulation of the potions in his veins. Bloody bubbles showed on the priest's lips as he rasped:

“Keres.”

The Witcher ran his sword through the man's heart without even hesitating. His world tilted into a strange angle and he felt that he was losing too much blood. There was no way he could make it out of the corridor and down the stairs without being caught.

“Fire!” The yell rang through the ground floor and Eskel blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness from his head with sheer willpower. “The library is on flames!”

The Witcher didn't know if it was appropriated to laugh, so he retreated as quickly as possible to Father Cilian's room and hid behind the open door as other doors on the first floor burst open and more sleepy priests emerged from their chambers, rushing down the stairs in panic, ignoring the body completely as they ran for their own lives. Eskel could smell the smoke now and crinkled his nose. Most of the building had been erected out of wood and stone, so a fire was likely a disaster that could destroy the whole school.

He wondered what had happened and his chest constricted as he thought of the boys in the dormitory. Would Julian warn them in time and get them out of the school? He pushed back a sigh and decided it was time to leave the room through the window. Taking the stairs and running into the remaining priests would be another suicide attempts and he wasn't keen on getting finally killed.

Some bushes absorbed the impact of his body and he used a proper falling technique Vesemir would be proud of. After rolling over and staggering to his feet, he stabilized his body by leaning on the stone wall. He listened into the night and he saw the flames emerging from the windows, heard the sharp crackling of the flames and knew that the Kreve boarding school would burn down to the ground.

He stumbled forward and dared to follow the hum of excited human noises, taking cover behind the corner of the building. Eskel needed to know if the pupils were alright and as he peeked from his hideout, he felt the relief washing over his aching body. There was a group of children of all ages, cuddled together, staring into the flames with fascination and horror. Some of them cried.

Julian was there, too. He stood a bit away from the other boys and the orange glow of the flames danced on his young face and in his clear blue eyes. He didn't cry. He smirked proudly. Suddenly Eskel knew who had set the school on fire. The Witcher shook his weary head and hummed under his breath.

It had been a horrible day. But somehow he knew the boy would make his way. And maybe, some day, they would meet again. Under better circumstances. But one never knew.


	2. Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank your for all your kind kudos and comments. This should be a fic with two chapters, but it seems the writing goddesses decided otherwise. Well, please enjoy part 2 of 3.
> 
> And note: there are some dark topics included. But also lots of love and romance.

_Southern Kaedwen in the year 1244_

“So she's dead”, Geralt murmured and suddenly froze in front of the message board that held the village's proclamations and monster contracts. Jaskier, who had daydreaming about the right choice of strings for his elven lute crashed into the Witcher's broad back and winced.

“Who's dead?”, the minstrel asked and rubbed his chin that had collided with the crossbow Geralt carried on his back. There was no real answer to his question, but as Jaskier joined his friend in front of the board, he noticed the shadow that dimmed the sharpness of Geralt's amber eyes. “Someone you knew?”, Jaskier guessed and pressed his lips sympathetically when the slight flinch of the Witcher's jaw musculature gave the information away. “I am sorry”, the minstrel added and glanced through the different pieces of parchment the inhabitants of the village had posted. “Deirdre, terror of Kaedwen?”

“Yes.” Geralt exhaled slowly. There weren't many people on the Continent who could easily perceive his emotions, but Jaskier was one of them. The minstrel knew how hidden pain looked, he knew it all to well. The young man sighed and shot his companion an encouraging glance.

“Come on, let's return to the tavern and raise a glass in her memory”, he suggested and was shocked when Geralt's expression changed drastically. The Witcher's pale face went completely bank.

“No”, the white haired man said and turned away. “I need to leave.”

“Woah, what? We only arrived two hours ago, Geralt! I am tired and we're nearly out of coin, so that little Nekker contract and one of my performances are urgently needed right now.”

“You can stay. I will travel north, to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier stayed behind in the dust of the road and didn't know what had just happened. It was a bright late summer day and not a single white cloud disturbed the brilliant blue of the sky. Normally Geralt would leave for his winter home in the Blue Mountains some days before the first frost bit, so it was far too early this year.

The minstrel shook his head and brushed a lock of his chestnut brown hair from his forehead. Something about the message had shaken Geralt so thoroughly that he was willing to change his routine. And as the Witcher was a man who heavily relied on his routines, Jaskier knew there was something terrible going on.

So he ran, lute case bobbing on his back, and caught up with his friend at the stables where Roach, the brown mare, patiently waited to be saddled and bridled.

“Please tell me”, Jaskier demanded and stroked Roach's face gently. “I would like to help.”

“You can't”, the Witcher murmured and fastened the girth with a well practised movement. “This is between me and my brother Eskel.”

The minstrel's heart missed a beat and then another. 

“Eskel”, he repeated lamely and his mouth suddenly felt terribly dry. Long suppressed memories flooded into his mind as it returned to a night long ago. He could almost feel the taste of tears and ashes on his lips again and his legs denied him their cooperation. Shaking, he leaned on a wooden pillar. “Eskel? Golden skin, golden eyes, black hair? Voice and shoulders like – a bear?”

Geralt's eyes slightly widened and Jaskier could tell that the Witcher felt irritated by this unexpected reveal.

“That's him. How do you know him? Why did you never tell me?”

The minstrel opened the top buttons of his sweat soaked shirt. Breathing had become painful.

“I met him when I was a child and I – thought he died. Didn't want to open old wounds.” Jaskier shook his head to evict the dizziness that tried to paralyse his body. “Take me with you. I owe this man my life and I never had the chance to thank him properly.”

The Witcher sighed and a torn expression contorted his pale face. It was one of the rare moments when Geralt really allowed Jaskier to see through the walls he had erected to protect himself from the hurt and pain that came with living a Witcher's life.

“Jaskier, I don't think this is a good idea. He's been through a lot recently.” Geralt's voice was calm and resolved, but Jaskier was resolved, too. He wouldn't stand down this time. 

“Please.” They stood and they stared at each other for a while. Jaskier knew he had won when Geralt blinked and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”

“Get our luggage, then. And don't slow me down.”

Jaskier bolted out of the stables and returned minutes later with their saddle bags, after making excuses and paying the innkeeper although they hadn't stayed the night. Soon they rode off the village and headed north. As the night finally fell and Jaskier stumbled over his own feet from fatigue, they set camp and built a small fire to keep the nightly predators away. Their simple evening meal of stale bread and dried meat was a quiet matter and Jaskier fell asleep as soon as his head hit the leather satchels he used as a cushion.

His night was filled with nightmares had he hoped to be long gone and as a pale sun rose, he found it hard to pretend to be in his usual good mood. Geralt didn't seem to notice or to care, so Jaskier covered the last embers of the fire with soil and prepared for another day on the road.

It was midday and the minstrel had failed to return to the usual light chatter he normally used to distract himself from his sore feet and his everlasting hunger. He desperately wanted his life to be normal again, but his mind had decided to turn inwards, to recall what he had been pushing back for years. Being reminded that he once had lived a life so desperate that he had asked a Witcher – a complete stranger - to kill somebody for him left him confused and sad.

The fact that Eskel was Geralt's brother was so very ironic, but Jaskier refused to find it amusing. It had been nine years of building a new life, free of the boundaries of his childhood, and now the memories crashed down once again with full force. He had mourned the man who had been willing to fight for him without even knowing him. Over the course of the years, his memories of Eskel had faded into a blur, but now the details came back one by one. The wolf medallion on the Witcher's broad chest as he had hugged him tightly, the dizziness and the feeling of comfort after being hit by Axii, the smell of the burning school building he had set ablaze in a final act of resistance. Jaskier remembered everything and wanted to cry, but couldn't. His shame had formed a hard lump in his chest that hurt too much.

“Deirdre was my brother's child of surprise”, Geralt explained calmly and the bard blinked, thrown back into reality again, suddenly noticing it was a beautiful and warm day. “Eskel avoided meeting her until she was a grown woman because he didn't believe in destiny. He wanted her to live a carefree life without being bound to a Witcher. But Deirdre had been born under the Curse of the Black Sun and she was dangerous.”

Geralt didn't meet Jaskier's gaze and fondled Roach's mane instead.

“Some mages wanted to vivisect her, so Deirdre and her men showed up at Kaer Morhen to ask for our guidance. A delegation of mages appeared soon after Deirdre's arrival. Eskel had collected every information about the curse over the years and had hoped to find a cure for Deirdre and her unnatural abilities. My brother and I discussed if we should help her, but I told him we shouldn't and keep our neutrality. I had met a Child of the Black Sun earlier and wanted to help her. I failed badly.”

Geralt's voice faded away and the minstrel was shocked by the amount of guilt he could see in the Witcher's amber eyes. He wanted to hear that story, too, but he recognized his friend wasn't ready to tell him more, so Jaskier's mouth remained shut.

“I convinced the other to decide we wouldn't get involved in Deirdre's affairs. Things escalated. Deirdre stabbed Eskel and slit his face, disfiguring him for the rest of his life. She escaped during the fight that emerged and decided to spread her wrath everywhere she could. Eskel decided it would be him who should take her down. And he finally did it.”

Jaskier swallowed hard. Hearing that the man he had adored for such a long time had suffered so badly troubled the minstrel. Of course he had known Eskel only for one day, but he would never forget how deeply accepted he had felt in the dark haired Witcher's presence. Every adolescent boy needed a hero. Jaskier knew that maybe he had been projecting all of his childhood wishes into just one man, but he couldn't help himself. He had loved Eskel since that day and he had blamed himself for the Witcher's presumed death in the roaring flames of the school

His relief and his guilt were a dangerous pair that spiralled in his body, cutting down his hard earned composure like a scythe cutting grain, leaving him weak and vulnerable.

“So”, Jaskier mumbled and looked up, suppressing his own distress with all his might. “You're blaming yourself for what happened.” His assumption was met with stoic silence and the bard managed to produce a smirk. “I know you, Geralt, remember? I am sure your brother holds not grudge against you because you just did what you thought would be the best for all of you.”

“The lesser evil”, Geralt grumbled, but his hard gaze softened. “Yes, I blame myself. But not only for Eskel's injuries. My brother has always been sociable and charismatic. People trusted him. But the scars in his face changed everything. Humans began to shy away from him. And he just – disappeared behind the scars and his chosen task of hunting Deirdre down. Now that he's done, I don't know what he will do. If he can go on.”

“Oh no.” Cold gripped Jaskier's heart. He knew what Geralt implied and it sent a jolt of panic through his body. “Do you think he will be at Kaer Morhen?”

“Maybe”, Geralt hummed. His face was like pale marble in the broad sunlight. “But I plan to search every village of Kaedwen until I find him.”

And so they did. It took them two days to get to the village where Deirdre's body had been hung in front of the mayor's house for public display, decaying and mangled by greedy crows. The grateful villagers were very keen to tell the story of the scarred Witcher who had come to the settlement some days after hunting down the female leader of the bandits who had been terrorizing the whole country for years.

Eskel had just left the body with the mayor, not accepting a single coin of the reward that had been placed on Deirdre's head by King Henselt. An old man could tell the dark haired Witcher had been riding North on a brown stallion with a white forehead and that the man had been hurt.

Geralt's mood after learning about this got worse and Jaskier couldn't blame his friend for fearing for his brother's life. Eskel could have stayed at the friendly village to cure his injuries, but he had decided to leave instead of caring for himself. That was indeed a bad sign.

A day later they entered a small hamlet of four cottages and lots of farmland. Jaskier instantly spotted the brown stallion, running free on a pasture behind one of the buildings. Geralt growled at that sight.

Children and grown ups were working on the sun bathed fields, harvesting rye and buckwheat. A short, but sturdy man went to greet them with a cautious look in his dark eyes.

“I have bought the stallion for a fair prize”, the peasant instantly exclaimed and rose his hands in defence. “Please, don't kill us, Master.”

“So you have seen the other Witcher?” Jaskier took over the talking because he knew that Geralt was ready to kick in any door in the settlement in order to find his brother. The bard vibrated with anxiety. He normally was a man of refined words, but he knew there was no time for more than politeness. “Where is he?”

“As I said”, the peasant repeated, his features now marked by pity. “He sold us the animal some days ago and left, carrying just his bags and his swords. Went into the woods although we told him not to go, shredded up as he was. There are all sort of creatures in the forest.”

Jaskier reached out and grabbed Geralt's upper arm before the Witcher could do something he would later regret. The bard needed his companion to remain sharp and determined, not distracted by anger. The peasant – Hugh – was luckily intelligent enough to understand there was something going on and agreed on selling them provisions and fresh herbs before he showed them where Eskel had disappeared into the forest.

Finding the Witcher's trail proved to be relatively easy, as Eskel had left several slashed Endrega workers and drones along his path into the heart of the woods. But the desperate look on Geralt's face whenever he bent down to check a splash of old blood on the wood floor or on a tree trunk told Jaskier that the monster's weren't the only being who were hurt during the fights.

They walked for the rest of the day and when dusk fell, Geralt reluctantly began to slow down and look for a place to set their camp. Suddenly, he stopped and a smile lit his solemn face. Roach snorted and leaned her head into his shoulder, thankful for the break.

“I hear his heartbeat”, Geralt hummed and Jaskier nearly toppled over a tree root as he quickened his pace to catch up. “He is somewhere underground, but he is alive.”

The Witcher handed over the reins to the bard and went searching the rocky area. Jaskier followed, slower now, grateful for the distraction that came along with the horse. Soon, they passed more Endrega bodies and then Geralt knelt by a deep cleft in the rocks that was narrow enough for one man to slide down. Jaskier approached and stared into the darkness that greeted them. He noticed the old bloodstains adorning the dark stone and swallowed hard.

“Eskel?”, Geralt yelled and his voice quivered a bit. “Can you hear me?”

Time passed, painfully so and Jaskier needed to remind himself to breathe.

“Wolf?”

Both of them heard the dark, but unsteady voice ringing from the cleft below their feet. Jaskier closed his eyes and sent some silent thanks to Melitele. The resonance of Eskel's voice shook him to the core.

“Hold on, I will come down!”, the white haired Witcher shouted and turned. “Jaskier, take Roach. Ride back to the hamlet to get help.”

“No.” Jaskier was surprised how calm his voice sounded and he held Geralt's puzzled glance without even blinking. “I will go down. You have told me everything you know about tending wounds and your Witcher potions. But riding through an unknown forest in the dark on a horse that doesn't accept me as a rider - if I meet a monster, I will be dead within seconds. That wouldn't help any of us and you know it.”

Geralt's face burnt with exasperation, but he thought about it for a moment and finally nodded.

“Eskel, how deep did you fall? Is it safe down there?”

A painful grunt rang out from the darkness.

“It's a steep 20 feet slide. Don't come down.”

“I will do it anyway!” Jaskier bounced with tension and he still felt dizzy and anxious as Geralt tied a rope around his hips and handed him a satchel with food, water, potions, medical supplies, candles, tinder, flint and fire-steel.

“Eskel, I will lower Jaskier down and get help!”

The answer was another pained grunt and the minstrel pressed his lips.

“He'll be safe with me, Geralt, I promise.” Jaskier lightly squeezed the Witcher's arm and then started to dismount. It didn't went as smoothly as he had hoped. The rocks were slippery with moss and some grates cut into his hands and legs, but he suppressed the pain and went on, until his feet finally touched ground in absolute darkness. His fingers untied the knot and the rope disappeared. Second later, Jaskier heard the soft clopping of Roach's hooves fading away in the distance.

“You're Geralt's bard.” Eskel's voice rang from just some feet away. It sounded confused. The minstrel flinched.

“Ah, so you've heard of me? Phew, I am glad, because you brother's loves to point out I am a pain in his ass.” Jaskier knew he was babbling, but he tried to make this as easy for himself and Eskel as possible. His hands searched through the content of his bag and found the candles. “I will light a candle now, so you might want to shield your lovely Witcher eyes.”

There was a low huff. Jaskier's fingers were shaking because he didn't know what to expect. The sound of his voice had told him that the cavern was larger than expected. Dry leaves rustled under his legs as he knelt and cleared a rock from debris. Soon, a spark emitted from the tinder and he brought it up to light the candlewick.

Warm, golden shimmer filled the cove and Jaskier blinked, turning his head slowly to finally see Eskel. His heart leapt painfully as he spotted the large, oh so familiar figure. The Witcher leaned on the cave's wall, ghastly pale and covered with blood and monster muck. His dirty face was hollow and the only thing that gave away he was still alive were his golden eyes that stared in Jaskier's direction.

And there were the scars. Jaskier's heart filled with sympathy as he finally witnessed the severity of the wounds Eskel had suffered from Deirdre's hand. The Witcher's beautiful face was ruined, his cheek and his upper lip contorted by bright red scar tissue. But Jaskier didn't care at all. His heart pounded in his chest way too fast and it took him a while to decided against picking up a conversation with the words that had formed in his head.

“Fancy meeting you under such interesting circumstances”, the minstrel smiled gently and picked up the bag again. He lowered himself on the ground next to the injured man. He could see large gashes in the Witcher's arms and legs, the body parts that hadn't been protected by Eskel's gambeson. One leg had apparently been broken and had healed again, but the angle of the bones was so wrong Jaskier felt sick. The fabric of the gambeson was ripped over Eskel's stomach and there was a lot of dark, caked blood. Some of it looked fresh in the light of the candle.

The contents of the Witcher's own bag and his swords were scattered around his body. There were empty potion vials, but it was the equally empty water skin that caught Jaskier's attention first and he hurried to produce his own, holding it out to Eskel with shaky hands. He was relieved that the Witcher still was strong enough to take it and drink some careful sips with Jaskier's help.

“Pleasure”, the Witcher hummed and suddenly coughed wetly, his facial expression very pained as one of his hands covered his abdomen again. “I didn't expect anyone to find me here.”

“We figured out that much, yes”, Jaskier answered and produced another small reassuring smile, as he took the water skin back and capped it. “Let me get you out of your armour and check these wounds, will you?” Eskel's face instantly filled with reluctance and the bard sighed. Witchers were all alike or so it seemed. Very good at killing, very bad at admitting they needed help. “Listen, Geralt will never speak a word with me again if I don't take good care of you. And he is my muse, so this would be an absolute disaster for my professional career.”

“The wolf's an idiot”, Eskel rumbled, but he tried to sit up and Jaskier hurried to gently loosen the gambeson's buckles and slide the wool stuffed jacket down, supporting the Witcher's broad back with his hands. He hated to hear that Eskel's breathing hitched as the movements caused him pain, but Jaskier finally removed the gambeson and folded it neatly so it could serve as a cushion later.

“Sure he is, but he is also my very much loved companion”, Jaskier grinned sheepishly, trying to keep Eskel talking. He had missed the Witcher's dark rumble so much, he was sure the mutant could easily sniff out his nervous joy and distress. “But please, don't tell him about the latter. His arrogant head might combust.”

Jaskier lit a second and a third candle and placed them at a rock next to the Witcher's body to have a better view at his patient. The minstrel couldn't but gawk at the deep wound in Eskel's abdomen. It was still moist with gore and stank horribly. How long had the Witcher survived in this darkness? Five days? Six? It was a wonder they had found him alive.

“So, dear Witcher, which potions did you take? Swallow, I presume? Kiss? I mean, the potion?” Jaskier babbled again and felt like an idiot, so he distracted himself by rummaging through his bag. “And maybe Cat to see how this lovely place looks like? It needs some refurbishment, though. But I suppose the potions are out of your system now, so I would like to give you Swallow and Kiss again after I've wrapped this wound. Because I don't want your intestines to drop into my face when they pull you out of there. Alright?”

The large Witcher stared and Jaskier dared to look up, feeling the weight of Eskel's prying eyes on body.

“I know your face”, the Witcher whispered hoarsely and Jaskier forgot to breathe again as he looked up and their eyes finally met in a moment that stretched into eternity. “Hello Julian.”

“Hello Eskel.”

“How are you?” The Witcher's words were very soft and cautious, as if he was unsure how Jaskier would react to him now. Jaskier's jittery heart forced him into movement and he leaned forward to touch Eskel's hand with the tips of his fingers. The skin was ghostly cold.

“Very well, as I live a good life. Filled with laughter and friendship and music.” Jaskier felt that his composure faded away like dust in the wind as he repeated the words the dark haired Witcher had sworn him to so long ago. “Because of you. So don't you dare to die on me now. You hear me, Eskel?”

“I hear you.” 

Jaskier bit his trembling lip and tried not to notice that Eskel hadn't promised anything. It was hard, but he knew he needed to stay professional. So he took the bandages from his bag and tried to dress the deep gash in the Witcher's abdomen. It wasn't easy, as Eskel was a large man and the stench of sliced internal organs was awful, but finally Jaskier made it and took up a vial of potion to check its colour and distinctive markings.

“Here, Swallow. Drink it”, he muttered and shoved the flask into Eskel's bloody hand. But the Witcher didn't comply. He just sat there, head bowed and there was an expression of bone deep exhaustion on his scarred face. Exhaustion that went far deeper than Jaskier had feared. The minstrel saw a man that had finally given up on life and he recognized himself in the Witcher's desperation. How often had he stared into a mirror as a young boy, hoping that the world would come to an end? “Eskel?”

“Can't.” The Witcher's voice was barely audible, the vibrant sound gone. “I don't want to be saved.”

Jaskier felt the blood draining from his face as his anxiety flooded his veins, leaving him numb and helpless like the child he once had been. His vision blurred as he tried to hold back his tears, but all his efforts were in vain. There was no way he could hold a straight face much longer.

“You silly, silly Witcher!”, he yelled and yanked the potion out of Eskel's hand. “You will take this or I will shove it down your throat, vial included! You can't just save my life and deny me saving yours as well! That's unfair! I won't allow it!”

Eskel blinked in surprise and then a tiny, pained smile crinkled the corner of his unscathed eye.

“Life is unfair, Julian”, he coughed and there was dark fluid bubbling on his lips whose sight stoked Jaskier's panic to new heights. It was probably the water Eskel had drunk that had welled into his hurt lungs. Jaskier shivered. All he had wanted was to help, but he had caused more damage and the realization hit him hard. “You will adjust to it, boy.”

“Is it because of these damn scars?” The minstrel suddenly shook with a rage he didn't know he harboured. He had been so determined to shape his new life that he had shoved away all the negative memories and emotions that had been his companions for so many years. But there it was, a simmering anger about the injustice of the world he had felt as a child and thoroughly neglected as an adult.

“I don't care about them. You're still the same man to me. The man who saved me.” He leaned forward and dared to rest his forehead on Eskel's scarred cheek, to embrace the other man carefully. The Witcher flinched, but he was too weak to withdraw from the sudden touch. Jaskier hated himself for invading the other man's personal space, but he couldn't resist the need to _feel_ that there was still life in the Witcher's body. 

“Please”, Jaskier begged silently, but there was no answer. He felt how the muscles in the once powerful body he had been cradling in his arms became slack. A warm tear fell on the cold skin of Eskel's face as the minstrel held the Witcher and sang him a lullaby.


	3. Eskel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the final...no, it's not the final chapter. It can be read as such, but I think I will write another chapter. I am a sucker for a real happy ending, so...please stay tuned :)

Drifting in and out of unconsciousness felt like being a seashell thrown upon a beach by the merciless tides over and over again. A shell that once had protected a soft and vulnerable core, now hollow and deprived of any purpose than being shredded to dust one day.

There was pain, too, but Eskel was used to being in pain, so he accepted it and when it faded, he only knew it would return sooner or later. This was a Witcher's life. His life.

Soft hands pressed something cold to his forehead and he realized he was burning up. The touch was soothing, but it reminded him there was a world outside of the strange maelstrom of feelings and sensations he had been reduced to.

His mutations had turned him into a being that would always decide to open his eyes, to move his hurt body, to fight until he would inevitably die on the Path. And although his conscious self had decided at some point of his life that he wanted to give up and just let go, his genetic heritage threw him back into wide-awakeness in the exact moment when the hands moved on his body.

Radiant sunbeams hit his eyes, stabbing a dagger of light into his brain and he groaned, covering his face with one bandaged hand.

“Welcome back.” A soft, feminine voice rang next to his bedside. He was lying on a firm mattress, dressed with nothing more than his braies, lots of bandages and a light blanket. The pillow under his head was soft and the comfortable feeling was disturbing, as he had excepted to find himself in the cave again. Crushed and broken. Only Julian by his side. “Wait a moment, I will close the curtains.”

“Where am I?”, he rasped and opened his eyes again as cool shadows fell over his body. He dared to move his head and look around. The blonde woman caught the wet cloth when it slipped from his forehead and shot him a scolding glance, as she dipped the fabric into the water bowl on the night stand. She was tiny and chubby, with cheeks like ripe apples and a kind smile. Eskel noticed her simple dress and the wooden Melitele pendant. Three connected rings that represented the faces of the goddess – maiden, mother and crone. 

“Easy”, she murmured and replaced the cold compress once again. This time, he remained motionless. “You are at the Refuge Of The Lady near Ban Ard. My name is Agneta, I will care for you. It's been three days since your brother brought you in. Would you like to see him?”

Eskel thought about it. His hand touched the bulge of the abdominal bandage he could feel under the blanket. It reminded him of the hours he had spent in the darkness of the cove, locked away from the world, with only his thoughts keeping him company. Thoughts that had led him to a simple truth. He had been ready to die.

Geralt would be furious if he had learned from Julian what had happened. Eskel wasn't sure he could stand his brother's rage now. But he knew that Geralt was also eaten up by his guilt and Eskel loved him too much to let him suffer. So he sighed.

“Yeah. I suppose he came down on you like a ton of bricks?”

The woman laughed cheerfully and winked at him before she left.

“You have no idea, Eskel.”

Great, Geralt had behaved like a wild boar in a floral garden? Eskel sighed again and tried to sit up, leaning on his forearms. The compress slipped away once again, but he forget about it entirely as the door crashed open and Geralt stomped into the room, face dark like a thunderstorm.

“These _women_ ”, he grumbled and Eskel would have chuckled, but he had stopped laughing a while ago. He nevertheless couldn't prevent that the corners of his mouth curled into a half smile, but he instantly felt how the destroyed nerves of his face refused to obey. Eskel didn't need a mirror to understand he only produced a distorted grimace. “You're feeling better?”

Geralt lowered himself on the chair next to the bed and his amber gaze was intense, questioning. Eskel just hummed. The fever made him dizzy and exhausted and he wasn't ready to have a longer conversation.

“Where is your bard?”, Eskel asked as he finally fathomed that his brother had come alone. The white haired Witcher furrowed his brow and suddenly smelled of anger.

“I sent him away. He can consider himself lucky I didn't kill him for what he did.”

Eskel's world tilted as he shot up without even noticing what he was doing. His body betrayed him. He collapsed back on the mattress, breathing heavily. Geralt stared at him, too shocked to move.

“Why?”, Eskel breathed.

“He promised me you would be safe with him.” Geralt's voice was nothing more than a menacing growl now, but there was a sad undertone that didn't escape Eskel's attention. The White Wolf finally rose to his feet and began to pace next the the bed. Eskel could smell his brother's confusion and disappointment and recalled the moment when Julian had told him that Geralt was his beloved companion. Maybe the unlikely couple had bonded and were more than friends?

The thought provoked a strange feeling inside of Eskel's chest and he tried to breathe normally.

“I was safe”, he rasped and shook his head in disbelief over his brother's deed.

“But you nearly died down there. He didn't give you any potion”, Geralt shouted again and this time, he allowed his desperation to shine through. “You were barely alive when we dragged you out of that hole!”

“Because I told him I didn't want them. I wanted to die, Wolf.”

The silent words and the following silence hit as painfully as a double whiplash. Geralt froze and wanted to say something, but there were no words coming out of his mouth. Instead, he just turned and ran out of the room, hunted by his inability to express his feelings and the fear Eskel could see and smell.

The Witcher exhaled painfully and closed his eyes again, hands folding over the blanket that suddenly felt itchy. He was so tired, but he just couldn't stop thinking, his mind whirling around the last two years and how he had disappointed everyone around him by his failure to recover. He should have been stronger than this. But he hadn't and none of the tactics his brothers and Vesemir had tried on him had worked. 

Instead, he had fallen deeper and deeper into a void where every word, every glance had been too much. He longed for tranquillity, but it had been denied to him again. Eskel wasn't even angry about it. Now, that the task he had taken upon himself – finally hunting Deirdre down – was done, there was nothing left for him any more and everything had gone numb.

He slept again and when he woke in the night, Agneta was there, providing him with clear broth and changing his bandages. She was working silently, but she commented along everything she was doing to give him a feeling of security. Eskel was thankful for her support, but couldn't bring himself to smile at her, because he feared she might shy away from him.

The next day passed in a blur. He only woke up if he needed to relieve himself into a bed pan with Agneta's help or if his mouth felt parched because of the fever that was still ravaging his body. Geralt didn't return and Eskel was thankful for it. Seeing his brother only reminded him how much of a failure he was. His family had always relied on his strength, his calmness, his way of thinking things through before acting instinctively. Now, he could provide nothing but being a nuisance.

A soft melody glided into Eskel's semi conscious mind and he allowed himself to bath in the melodious humming that accompanied it. But something stroke him odd, so he opened his eyes and saw Jaskier sitting on his bedside, lute in his hands, playing a mellow song that filled the room. It was late, the sun had already set and the oil lamp on the bedside threw strange shadows at the bard's face, obscuring his eyes.

“How did you get past the priestesses?”, Eskel asked and hated how metallic and strange his voice sounded in comparison to the rich tone of the music. The bard looked up and shrugged in a very nonchalant way. The music ended with a last, perfect chord.

“Well, you know – I am a very charming man.” Julian's glance was guarded, but kind. “I am sorry I disturbed you, but I tend to play when I'm nervous.”

“Don't be. Glad you're here.”It was the truth. Eskel knew, without even knowing his brother's bard, that Julian – Jaskier, reminded himself – would understand. The bard smiled again, lost in thoughts and his fingers began to wander over the lute strings again, drawing some lighter tones now.

“Your brother apologized to me and asked me to let you know”, Jaskier mumbled and then grinned sharply, clearly mocking himself with the words to come. “Made it easy for him, good soul that I am.”

Eskel was mesmerized by the movements of the other man's fingers on the board of the lute. He still remembered the awkward, but fierce adolescent Jaskier had been. Now, seeing him again, the Witcher was reminded of the fact that human lives were short and changes happened within the blink of an eye. Jaskier was taller than before, lean and well muscled under a linen shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong arms and elegant hands.

“I am sorry”, Eskel rasped and the bard's blue eyes widened in disbelief. “For forcing you into making that choice.”

Jaskier slowly shook his head, finally putting his lute away very gently, like he was handling a beloved child. He licked his lips nervously and locked his fingers, but he didn't avoid Eskel's gaze.

“It was a frightening situation, to be honest. When I was a young boy, there were so many occasions when I told myself I wanted to die. But in fact, I wanted to live. I just wanted to have somebody who deeply cared about me, what I wanted, what I needed.” The bard blinked, his gaze suddenly covered with the mist of long suppressed memories. “But that was my choice, back then. I didn't know what _you_ really wanted, so I took you by your word. I have spend enough time with your brother. I understand – so some extent - how hard and lonely a Witcher's life can be. So I though maybe you really desired peace. That's what I wanted to give to you, after you saved my life. So, you are a thousand times forgiven, Eskel.”

“Thank you.” The Witcher felt strangely light headed and attributed it to the fever. His eyes were growing heavy and Jaskier looked at him solemnly, smile returning to his flawless face.

“I will leave you alone now. Your brother and I share a room at a nearby tavern and I pay for it by performing at night, so off I go to be marvellous.” The Witcher felt cool fingers that reluctantly touched his hand for the briefest moment. “Good night, dear Eskel. I will see you tomorrow. If you'd like that.”

The Witcher just nodded and dozed off even before his visitor had left the room. 

The bard came back the next day and the day after that. He sat down on the chair at Eskel's bedsite and asked him if he preferred quiet company or entertainment. And then they shared either comfortable silence or stimulant conversation. It was no surprise that Jaskier was a literate person and could recite nearly every contemporary poem or discuss prose.

Sometimes the bard sang and played his favourite tunes or threw himself into epic narrations about his adventures at Geralt's side. Eskel had heard some of these stories from his brother's perspective and became aware that Geralt might had understated one or two details while reporting these events during the long Kaer Morhen winter evenings.

Jaskier also told him that Geralt would only come to visit him again when he was ready and Eskel was relieved to be granted the opportunity to focus just on himself, although he missed his brother dearly. 

It was nice, he thought, to have someone around who wasn't part of his family. The other Witchers had known him for all of his life and accepted him no matter what had happened. Maybe loved him, although Eskel was sure Lambert would try to kill him for just hinting at the possibility that the youngest Witcher could actually feel more that disgust and hate.

Eskel noticed that Jaskier's initial nervousnesses gradually trailed off until the Witcher sensed nothing more than content when the bard entered the room in the afternoons. Apart from that emotion that had evolved during their time in the cove, Jaskier had never showed any sign of fear while being with him.

The dark haired Witcher knew this had to be the result of the minstrel's relationship with his brother, of living the life on the Path together. He felt happy for Geralt, although he had to admit that Jaskier's non-distance did something to him he couldn't verbalize. He would touch Eskel whenever possible, rearranging the blanket, passing him a glass of water with their fingers brushing and had even started to poke Eskel lightly when the Witcher was gloomy.

After a week, Agneta announced that he was finally allowed to get up. His leg and the wound in his abdomen were still hurting like hell, but he wanted to go outside so badly he ignored the weakness and the pain he was feeling until these, too, petered out.

From that day on, his daily routine changed again if the weather was playing along. While Eskel enjoyed the afternoon sun in the sanctuary's colourful garden, the bard sat with him, made music and charmed every single woman for fifteen to eighty with his good looks and his sweet compliments.

With other people around, the bard was always a little bit too much of everything – of talking and laughing and flirting and it took Eskel a while to understand why Jaskier's behaviour abruptly changed in the same moment they were alone again. He dared to ask about it and Jaskier, propped up on his forearms, lying in the grass, just smiled. The bard wore a bright green doublet that changed the colour of his eyes into a vivid shade of teal.

“Well”, Jaskier mused and stared up into the late summer sky. “When I went to Oxenfurt to begin my studies, I chose to be a new person. Still naïve, yes. Still an insecure idiot, but a very charming one, chasing skirts and living life to the excess. I love this existence, but I am well aware it is also a way to never let anybody know that deep down inside, I am still a boy looking for validation. You are aware of that, so there's no need to pretend when I'm with you.”

Eskel was lost for words and swallowed hard. He tried to turn away his face from the bard's kind eyes, feeling that he didn't deserve the level of trust that Geralt's bard had built up in such a short time.

“Hey”, Jaskier mumbled and picked up a daisy from the grass, twisting it between his nimble fingers. His gaze was soft, but very observant. “Please don't do that, Eskel. I mean, you can always turn away from me if you want to. But I need you to know that I feel save when I'm with you. I hope that maybe one day you'll feel the same way, too.”

Their conversation resounded in the Witcher's head when he went to bed that night and he had trouble sleeping for the first time in the past days. It had been the closest thing to talking about his scars since they had met again at the sanctuary and Eskel feared what would happen if he broke their unspoken agreement on avoiding the topic.

The next day, while staring into the rain from the sanctuary's portico, he told the bard he would like to see Geralt again and Jaskier clapped his hand in delight. His youthful face lit with a beaming smile, making a passing Melitele priestess stare at him starry-eyed.

“Oh, he will be glad to hear that. His incomparable grumpiness recently hit an all-time high and it's getting really hard to read the great variety of his guttural sounds correctly.”

The minstrel's eyes shone with softness when he talked about Geralt and Eskel felt like being punched in the guts. It was hard to admit that he had stopped thinking about Jaskier as the boy he had once met in Redania. He couldn't even recall the precise moment when something in the minstrel's infectious laugh had changed Eskel's perception of the other man.

“You must love him very much”, the dark haired Witcher mumbled and focussed on the raindrops falling on the marble Melitele statue in the middle of the courtyard. His hand absently brushed over his scar.

“Oh, yes, I do. Most of the time. He snores like a pregnant mouflon and has some serious issues with his personal hygiene, but -.” Jaskier shrugged and grinned again. His hand rested on Eskel's shoulder. It felt warm and reassuring. “So, I will tell him to step by tomorrow. Should I join him, too?”

“No.” The refusal came out in a rush and as the Witcher realized how harsh he had sounded, the damage was done. Jaskier's face fell and he drew in a quick breath.

“Alright, then – see you, Eskel.” The bard retreated in unusual silence and the Witcher stayed where he was, staring out into the rain. Autumn was approaching and the days were getting shorter and colder. He thought about returning to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible, his brother by his side. Maybe it would help him to shake off the pain from the lessons he had learnt during the last two years. Or maybe not.

Eskel spent another bad night, turning in his bed, waiting for sleep that never came. His nerves were quite frayed when Geralt showed up in his room the next morning, wearing a rain soaked coat and the sour face he usually presented after manoeuvring himself through a Melitele temple full of women who would stare at him.

They shared an awkward hug, but the moment Eskel felt his brother's arms around him, he relaxed and was flooded with a happiness that had become rare these days.

“Good to see you, Wolf”, he smiled openly, not caring about his face and how it would look like. “Heard you gave Jaskier a hard time?”

“Hm.” Geralt dropped his coat in the corner of the room and sat down at the edge of the bed, while Eskel lowered himself on the creaking chair. The reversed roles felt odd, but not unpleasantly so. “Tried to make up what I've done. But I was – worried for you.”

“I think he's aware and won't hold it against you”, Eskel pointed out warmly. “And I'm sorry for rejecting you, but I needed some time.”

“Don't apologize”, the white haired Witcher grumbled and their eyes met. Eskel could spot his brother's distress in the amber irides that resembled his own so much and was reminded of how much Geralt's attempts of helping him over the past years had meant to him. “Maybe I needed some time, too. I am not good at being helpless.”

“We're Witchers. It's not in our blood to be weak. Or so I thought.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

“When I tried to build you up, I always wanted to make you strong again. Never shed a thought on accepting what had happened. That you suffered. It was a mistake.”

Eskel cleared his throat and tried for a lighter tone.

“Well, suddenly you're a philosopher, it seems.”

“Yeah, it happens when you spend too much time with Jaskier”, Geralt shrugged with a crooked smile. “He's talking and talking and maybe I picked up some smart lines or two. He makes it -.”

“ - easier to talk about your feelings”, Eskel responded without even considering how ending his brother's sentence sounded and flinched. Geralt's gaze turned curious and Eskel felt that he blushed, actually blushed, an ability he had considered long gone. So he hung his head and groaned.

“Eskel?”

“Yeah?”

“Jaskier finally told me about you saving him from that school. I see that – you two have a connection. I thought about asking him to come to Kaer Morhen with us.” The corners of Geralt's eyes crinkled. “Although Lambert will freak out every five minutes.”

Eskel was relieved that the conversation had reached safe ground again. Even if _safe_ meant their younger brother.

“It's Lambert's way of dealing with his past, Geralt. Doesn't mean part of him is asshole by choice, though.”

They grinned at each other and Geralt finally rose, gently nudging Eskel's shoulder.

“Think about Kaer Morhen. I leave it to you. If you want to go and if we should take Jaskier.” He picked up his cloak and shook it, sending a shower of water droplets through the room. “Speaking of Jaskier. He's in a terrible mood today. Did you fight?”

“He didn't tell you?” Eskel furrowed his brow. “I mean, he's your -.”

“My bard? Doesn't mean he tells me everything”, Geralt interrupted with a grunt and shook his head. “Should we come to see you tomorrow?”

It was the question Eskel had secretly feared and he struggled to find an answer. He was feeling better, but he wasn't sure if he could watch his brother and Jaskier being close. So he warily shook his head that was again filled with too many questions and regrets.

“Will both of you give me another break? Need to figure out a thing. I will come to the inn when I'm ready to go.” Eskel didn't even know where said inn was, but he was aware that it would be easy to find his brother and his companion. Every Melitele priestess would be willing to help him, as most of them had been reduced to a bickering mass of goo when they had met Jaskier in the corridors or gardens.

“Sure.” A rare, open smile crossed Geralt's face and he left without objection. Eskel sat down on his bed and collapsed into the cushion. The emotional turmoil he had been thrown into recently had relieved him from the numbness he had been experiencing during the last months, but he didn't know if this was for the better. Feeling nothing had almost become soothing. He craved silence and sleep, but returning to his old life, a life that now would inevitably contain a certain bard meant something entirely different. He wasn't ready for this. 

Another three days passed and Eskel still hadn't made up his mind. He was torn and it even felt worse than lying in the cave in the woods, waiting for his time to finally come. He had been at peace until the moment his brother had found him and even if he didn't hate Geralt for it, the memory was painful.

The never-ending swirl of thought took its toll and he forgot to drink, eat and wash. It was Agneta who finally came to his room one afternoon, took him by the arms and shook him gently. Eskel hadn't expected so much strength in such a small person and simply glanced down at her sheepishly.

“Listen”, Agneta said with a surprisingly adamant voice. “Don't do that to yourself. Your healing just started and maybe you feel like you can't do it. In fact, you will stumble many times more until you are finally alright. You need to be patient. But you can do it. See where you came from and where you're now. There are people out there waiting for you. Who love you and want to help you. You aren't alone.”

Eskel blinked and his vision finally cleared.

“How do you know about it?”

The tiny woman gave him an encouraging clap on his upper arm. Her eyes twinkled cordially.

“I wouldn't be here any more if there hadn't been a person who gave me exactly that speech. So, what do you think about a hot bath, a meal and a visit to the “Twig and Dove” later today? Heard your bard is the talk of the village. You shouldn't miss his performances.”

“He's not _my_ bard.”

“Sure!”, Agneta laughed at him. “And pigs can fly.”

Three hours later, a very confused Eskel stumbled out of the sanctuary's main gate and squinted into the bright evening sky. It was surprisingly good the breath in the fresh air and he felt almost serene when he made his way to the nearby village. But the old anxieties returned as soon as he met the first people at the outskirts of the settlement. Although he didn't wear his swords that easily gave him away as a Witcher, people were staring at him and the last metres to the tavern's door felt like running the gauntlet.

He could hear the music pouring out of the open windows and the drunken cheer of the guests. Jaskier's voice was brilliant as ever and Eskel stopped dead. He suddenly wasn't sure if coming to the tavern was a good idea, but then the music died and second later, the door was yanked open. 

A yelp from the taproom announced that one of the guest who had been standing too close to the entrance had nearly been crushed by the door as Jaskier emerged and practically threw himself in the Witcher's arms.

“You made it!”, the minstrel shouted and Eskel could only stand and stare. He noticed Geralt appearing in the doorway, holding the bard's lute that looked ridiculously small in his hands. The White Wolf looked very annoyed and very happy at the same time.

“I made it”, Eskel repeated and wasn't sure where to put his hands. Jaskier's body pressing against his chest was slender and strong and it smelled deliciously, like mown grass, expensive wine and genuine happiness. In comparison to the bard, Eskel felt like a bulky, ungainly peace of meat and he didn't dare to follow his instincts to hold Jaskier close. Instead, he retreated carefully and suppressed a smile. 

The minstrel simply took his hand and dragged him into the taproom. There were a lot of people and they were staring, but Jaskier cheerily exclaimed “Next beer in on me!” and seized the inevitable uproar to lead Eskel away from the crowd and into a nearby corridor.

“You look like you need a break from people”, Jaskier mumbled, never letting go of Eskel's hand. “I am so proud of you. But you look like you are at the brink of panicking, so let's go to our room.”

Eskel didn't object and found himself guided through another door and pressed onto a chair with soft force. The tiny chamber smelled of leather, potions and a strange mixture of Geralt's and Jaskier's scents. A glass of water appeared in Eskel's hand. He drank hastily, while Jaskier rummaged through his satchels and then handed him a metal flask.

“Here, if you're up to something stronger.” The minstrel grinned naughtily. “Local booze is shite.”

“Thank you. Shouldn't you be performing right now?”, Eskel rumbled and decided to take a sip before returning the bottle. Jaskier drank, too and then threw flask on his littered bed. The tension in Eskel's body tailed off and he could breathe again. Yes, he felt safe with Jaskier. It was like coming home to a kindred spirit, although there were countless differences and obstacles that were standing between them. One of them was his own brother.

“Well, people will never miss the water until their well runs dry. They will wait for me, as I am irresistible.” Jaskier winked and knelt by Eskel's side without hesitation. The minstrel took the Witcher's hand again, covering it with his own gifted fingers. “So, here you are. Feeling better?”

“Sure.” The Witcher's brain needed a long moment to process the impressions that had flooded his mind during the past minutes. His gaze wandered through the room and a small voice in the back of his head told him he was missing a detail. “Took a while.”

“Yeah.” Jaskier grimaced guiltily, surprising Eskel again. “I am the most impatient person on the whole Continent and I knew I can be too much sometimes. So I understand why you decided to stay away.”

“No, it wasn't about you, it was - there isn't only one bed.” Eskel's mouth formed the words without considering what they could possibly mean. Jaskier stared at him, baffled, blue eyes wide and insecure.

“Of course there isn't only one bed. Why -.” The bard chuckled at first and then pure shock distorted his handsome face. “Wait a second. You weren't presuming Geralt and I were a couple?”

Eskel lowered his head. He was a simple man and living through the last two years had nearly killed him. The constant interplay of feeling nothing and everything at the same time was incredibly hard to bear. His conversation with Agneta had helped him to understand and accept that his situation wasn't something that would perish in a day or a month. He needed patience and he was willing to apply an enormous portion of it to get his life back.

However, he wasn't sure if the self proclaimed most impatient person on the whole Continent could handle him in his current state. Even if the bard would accept his friendship – or even more, although Eskel tried hard not to think about it - one day, Jaskier would decide to turn his back on him. The minstrel was young and adventurous. He deserved anything but a broken Witcher.

On the other hand – hadn't he decided to be patient. With himself? The world? Maybe he should put his trust in the minstrel, too. Take a risk. Hurt and pain were part of a Witcher's existence, but if he would stop accepting that, things would possibly change.

“Would you like to come to Kaer Morhen with us?” Eskel knew it was probably a mistake, but he wanted to try to trust in his instincts again. And all of them told him to take the bard home.

“I would love that!”, Jaskier mumbled, intertwining his fingers with Eskel's, radiating joy and a strange shyness that Eskel found adorable. 

The Witcher sighed and look down at their hands. It was remarkable, but he hadn't realized until now they were nearly of the same size, though strikingly different. His own was dark and marked with dozens of fine white scars. Jaskier's fingers were beautiful and pristine. But they matched each other in the strangest way. Suddenly, the fear left the Witcher's body. 

Eskel smiled.


	4. Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I said it would be 3 chapters. Then I thought 4 chapters would be sufficient. And now, after the 4th chapter, nothing is resolved and the slow burn is real. ^^

Kaer Morhen was a ruin, Jaskier thought and tried to hide his shock, turning to the mule who carried a part of the supplies they had bought. The once breathtaking fortress was crumbling and only the keep still stood tall, leaning into the rough mountainside as if it was seeking support.

“I know it looks terrible”, Eskel mumbled. He patted the neck of his horse and showed a crooked smile. The large Witcher had been quiet for most of their travel, leaving the talking to Jaskier and the majority of the daily tasks to Geralt. None of the two men had objected, because they both knew that Eskel still needed to recover. Not only physically, but mentally. He still had nightmares or didn't sleep at all, choosing meditation as an alternative to gather his strength.

“But it's our home.” Geralt's face was calm, but his eyes shone with a tenderness Jaskier hadn't witnessed before. The yearly return to Kaer Morhen had always been important to his Witcher companion, but the minstrel had never understood the full extent of Geralt's eagerness. “Because we make it our home.”

They followed the path they led towards the outer fortifications of the fortress and Jaskier looked around, trying to observe every detail of the surrounding dark woods, the snow-covered mountains, and the clear streams. His shock trailed off, now that he could allow himself to relax. Traveling the 'Killer', the only path that led into the Morhen village had taken its toll and he was incredibly tired. 

But there was still work to do and so he did his best to help Eskel and Geralt, as they entered the courtyard in front of the keep and began to unload the horses as well as the mules they had bought to carry the extra supplies they would need. The Witchers were early this year and had had to change their usual preparations due to the longer period they would be staying at the keep and the fact that they had brought a guest.

The minstrel was nervous as he spotted a sturdy figure at the ring wall that came to greet them, but he found out it was unnecessary. Vesemir, who had once been the young Witchers' fencing instructor, was a calm man who greeted Jaskier with a friendly smile and some good advice which places to avoid while walking around the once proud fortress alone. 

The rest of the day passed quickly. Each Witcher had a small room on the first floor of the keep and Vesemir decided Jaskier should move in with Geralt for the first nights until his own room has been set. Dinner was a quiet matter, with everyone being exhausted and uncommunicative. Soon, the men retreated to their respective rooms and Jaskier spent a miserable, but at least warm night in his bedroll in front of the hearth in Geralt's room.

The next morning was foggy and cold. The minstrel found the kitchen and the large banquet hall empty, but at least cold oats on one of the dusty tables. He devoured them as fast as possible and went to find the rest of the Kaer Morhen inhabitants. Geralt had busied himself with making a list of stock supplies and refused any help. Vesemir, sitting in the library, just smiled at him and told him to get some more rest.

But Jaskier wasn't ready to accept the good advice. He missed Eskel and the long talks they had shared at the Melitele sanctuary. Traveling with Geralt as a silent witness to the growing tension between his brother and the minstrel hadn't been ideal to bring up a certain topic Jaskier had been thinking over and over again.

Vesemir smiled as the bard asked him where to find Eskel and advised him to go to the second floor of the keep.

“It's good the boys brought you here, Jaskier”, Vesemir mumbled and turned the page of the book he was reading. “Please don't feel disheartened if you face some resistance.”

“Resistance? What kind of resistance?”, the minstrel inquired, but the oldest Witcher just patted his arm.

“You will get along, bard. I see it. You have a survivor's eyes.”

Jaskier left because he knew very well how a dismissal sounded. He felt deeply confused and uneasy, but the emotions faded away as he heard a faint hum echoing through the staircase. Curiously, he peeked through the door of the spectacular, circular room in the second floor he hadn't visited before. The chamber had a wonderful marble floor and a giant hearth, but the rest of it was in the same desolated state as the rest of the fortress. Dry leaves tumbled over the ground, whispering like faint voices.

“Slept well?” Eskel was kneeling on the floor, drawing chalk marks on some giant wooden panels he had laid out there. “I hope you don't hate it here?”

Jaskier sneaked into the room and produced a slim smile. He rubbed his hands. The chill of the foggy morning crept through the naked opening that led to a balcony outside. The minstrel wondered how the outlook would be like on a bright day.

“Well, I can't say I loved it from the start. It represents so many lost lives, I wasn't sure if I can feel happy here. But Geralt was right. If you want to make something your home, then you'll have to try it. So that's the plan.”

Eskel hummed, satisfied with the answer. His dark amber eyes met Jaskier's for a moment before he went back to work.

“That's good. Would be a shame I refurbish the room for you and then you just leave.”

Jaskier's heart jumped and he couldn't hide a joyful grin.

“For me? It's the largest room here! Are you sure?”

The scarred Witcher just shrugged.

“Vesemir approved. It will be a problem to heat it up, though. I need to figure out how -.”

The entrance door burst open and Jaskier jumped back as an unknown man bolted into the chamber. He was as broad as all the other Witcher's but his hair was red and made a strange match with his yellow eyes. His face was marked by scars, too, but in comparison to Eskel's fresh injuries, there were only small, white lines.

“So, big brother and the pretty boy brought a plaything?”, the man snarled and Eskel just hung his head and sighed softly.

“Hello, Lambert.” The dark-haired Witcher rose to his feet with animalistic elegance and the two men exchange a warrior's salute, grabbing each other's elbow. “Good to see you, brother.”

Jaskier now knew exactly what Vesemir had been talking about earlier that day. The old Witcher must had known the last of his siblings was about to arrive. Lambert was trouble, so much was clear. The minstrel knew that the man was the youngest Witcher and one of the last mutants that had been created at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had warned him that Lambert was a feisty bastard who preferred to provoke everyone around him.

Jaskier wasn't sure he was prepared for such an encounter. Being close the Eskel reminded him of his own past and brought up the old insecurities and anxieties he had been fighting for all of his life. But he knew he would try. He wanted to help Eskel and he needed to be strong for both of them. Even if he wasn't sure what the Witcher felt for him.

He knew he had made Eskel think that he and Geralt were in a relationship. The truth was that Jaskier really loved the white-haired Witcher. As a friend, travel companion – as a person. But he wasn't in love with him. 

Jaskier knew it was a mistake he hadn't unveiled it earlier during his friendship with Eskel and now he feared they might had missed the moment when the clarification could have made a difference.

Lambert left after producing some more or less refined remarks and Jaskier tried to help Eskel with the construction works, but it turned out he was absolutely incapable of working with wood. After getting a splinter in his thumb, he gave up.

“Eskel, you don't need to do that for me”, he smiled and leaned on the middle pillar of the room. “You should concentrate on your well-being, not on my sleeping arrangements. I could sleep in the library or in the kitchen.”

The Witcher shook his head and carried a wooden panel towards the opening that led to the balcony. Jaskier finally understood Eskel was building a door to keep the cold outside.

“I like simple challenges, Jaskier. Rebuilding this room. Killing monsters. The results show pretty fast. No traps. No trickery. No destiny. It's soothing.”

The minstrel pressed his lips. He didn't want to ask about the other man's brush with destiny, but Eskel surprised him by speaking up again.

“Geralt thinks it was his fault that this happened.” The broad man touched his scars and he looked so miserable that Jaskier needed to muster all of his self-restraint not to hug him. “That's him. Always ready to blame himself to help others get rid of their guilty conscience. He's a good man.”

“He is”, Jaskier couldn't help but he grinned. “Sometimes a fucking idiot. But there's a reason I call him my best friend. He cares. But he isn't the only one in this strange Witcher family.” Eskel shrugged and emitted uneasiness. Jaskier took pity on him. “Listen, you don't need to talk about Deirdre if you don't want to.”

Eskel busied himself with taking up the saw from his tool chest and working on what was to become another door wing. He didn't look up.

“When I called the Law of Surprise, I didn't expect anything. But it turned out that destiny is a fickle thing. I tried to avoid Deirde at all costs. Geralt claims I did it because I didn't want to burden her with a Witcher's presence in her life and that I wanted to put an end to a gruesome old Witcher tradition. That's a noble interpretation, but the truth is – I wasn't ready. I didn't want to take over the responsibility.”

Jaskier sighed deeply.

“I don't know if it helps, Eskel, but I think you're a very responsible person. It's because of your influence I am what I am today. Alive. Happy. And I think that's what you wanted for that woman. Geralt told me you even collected information about her curse to help her.”

The smile on Eskel's face was open and the emotion once again revealed the full damage Deirdre's dagger had caused on his facial nerves.

“You think you know me better than I know myself?” There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. Jaskier felt honored by Eskel's trust in his judgment and he needed to clear his constricting throat.

“I have been in that dark place before, Eskel. I started to question all of my decisions, telling myself everything was my fault. That I failed. That I should have done more. And maybe, yes, I fucked some things up. But I realized in the end that I didn't deserve all the punishment I was willing to put myself under. Life isn't black and white. It's about choices and how you try to deal with them. It's about forgiving yourself for the decisions you made in the past because you can't change them. And you couldn't have decided otherwise, anyway.”

Eskel stayed silent for a while and thought about what Jaskier had told him.

“It sounds – reasonable”, he finally hummed. “But – I will time to think about it. Deirde came to Kaer Morhen for help, but I refused to stand up for her. I was tricked by the mages' sweet words and my wish to be freed from my responsibilities. We decided to take a neutral position, but neutrality is a lie we Witcher's always want to believe in because we crave security this world will never offer. Deirde had incredible magic talents, yes. But she could have been a completely harmless person if I hadn't pushed her away. All the people she murdered – they are my victims, too.”

“And the moment Deirdre died you felt that destiny had nothing more to offer? That you – didn't deserve forgiveness, even though it has always been _her_ choice to take destiny into her own hand and not kill those people?” The minstrel wanted to cry, but he feared Eskel might misunderstand his compassion for pity. “But let me tell you, you've got all the time in the world to change your mind. And even if you don't, I want to stay by your side and help you.”

“Thank you, Jaskier”, Eskel said, slowly, like a dreamer stumbling through the crowded rooms of his troubled mind. “You are a really good friend.”

These words hurt more than Jaskier wanted to admit, but after finally taking the nap Vesemir had suggested, he realized he had made peace with the unpleasant sentiment. Eskel would maybe never love him back, but the minstrel knew he would be happy with whatever the future held. As long as Eskel would be a part of his life, he could accept every outcome.

Lambert attacked again during dinner and Jaskier hadn't seen it coming. Neither the words nor the blunt rejection that came with them.

“You think you can heal my brother? Heroically step in where his own family fucked up? You, bardling, reek of hidden pain yourself. Why don't you pack your stuff and bugger off? You aren't strong enough for this place.”

“That's enough, Lambert.” Vesemir's voice was rich as rolling thunder and the minstrel understood for the first time why all the surviving Witchers respected and feared the old man. “Jaskier is our guest and you will not violate the right to hospitality.”

The redhead slammed his tankard back on the table and jumped up.

“Fine”, he snarled and shrugged dismissively. “Then I will stay away from him because I am so close to losing my temper.”

He stormed out of the door that led to the courtyard and the slamming of the big oaken valves resounded in the hall for a terrible moment. Eskel also rose and scurried away, face pale and contorted by discomfort. Geralt followed him without hesitation.

Jaskier found it hard to fight back his tears. He wanted to follow Eskel and he really wanted to break Lambert's nose. But instead, his body wouldn't comply with his wishes. Vesemir sat down next to him and patted his trembling hand with his own.

“You did good, Jaskier.” The old Witcher smiled sadly, but the look in his eyes was kind and understanding. “I brought up these three men and I did my best, but it wasn't enough. All of them had can't deal with emotional hurt and have developed coping mechanisms that are far from sane. That is why I am glad you are here and try to help us with this.” He cleared his throat. “But Lambert was right at one point. You can't heal Eskel. Only support him. _He_ has to decide if he wants to get out of his despair and start living again. You are only human and you have suffered a lot yourself. Please don't make the mistake to give too much of the strength you will need for yourself. Kaer Morhen is brutal. Being snowed in with my boys is a challenge.”

“Especially with Lambert hating me”, Jaskier whispered. Vesemir's words were wise, he needed to acknowledge that. But it put him back into a state of helplessness he didn't like a all. He was in love with Eskel and he desperately wished the Witcher to be happy again. But love wasn't enough sometimes.

“Lambert adores Eskel, Jaskier. Like a big brother who always helped him through his own problems. Now he sees that Geralt, Eskel, and you have formed a special bond over the lasts weeks and he feels left out.”

“I get that.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and pouted for a while. But he had decided long ago that he would never meet people with distrust again, only with love and compassion. It was his way of leaving his past of fear and hate behind, so he needed to apply that rule to Lambert as well. “But I really want to find a way to move my thoughts away from what has just happened.”

Vesemir laughed.

“I think I know a way.” And he did.

During the next days, Jaskier didn't have the time to even consider thinking about Lambert. He learned how to make cheese from the bait goats' milk and sausages from the boar and deer the Witchers hunted. Useful books from the library taught him how to make soap and candles, to conserve berries and fruits, and bake thin, durable bread over the firepit that connected the banquet hall and the kitchen. The bard worked from dawn till dusk, chopped firewood, mixed mortar for the Witcher's construction works and fell asleep the second his head touched his pillow on the makeshift bed in Geralt's room.

He soon discovered how many muscles of his body had been unused until he started working physically every day. He welcomed the pain and the distraction, but he knew he was under Vesemir's steady surveillance, so he tried not to overdo it.

Lambert kept out of his way during the days and locked himself into his laboratory in one of the crumbling towers of the outer fortifications during the few hours of spare time Vesemir allowed all of them. But he wasn't the only one who avoided Jaskier – he only saw Eskel during breakfast and dinner. The minstrel tried hard to not take it personally. He knew that his friend sometimes needed time for himself and the clash with his little brother definitely hadn't helped. But Jaskier also noticed Eskel left every evening after dinner to work on his room, so he still knew the Witcher cared for him. 

“I have found a book with the construction sketches of Kaer Morhen in the library”, Jaskier explained excitedly as they sat down in front of the fire pit one evening. It had been a cold and rainy day and everybody was exhausted, even the Witchers with their superhuman powers. Surprisingly Lambert had stayed after the meal and now stared into the dancing flames. “Is it true there are some hot springs under the keep?”, the minstrel commenced.

Vesemir nodded and rubbed his large hands.

“The founders of Kaer Morhen used various techniques to build this place. Hard work and magic, mostly. The mages stayed after the construction because they were needed to support the creation of the Witchers. They liked it warm and cozy, so they decided to used geothermic energy and created a pipe system that still can be found in most of the rooms in the keep, but it all fell apart after the sacking. Someone blew up the corridor that led towards the cavern where the springs were situated and the system collapsed.”

“So you're telling me I could possibly soak my weary bones in hot water every frosty evening if we decided to clear that corridor?”

“Could also solve the heating problem in your room”, Eskel murmured and the look on his face changed from brooding to excited. “Lambert, you could help with some balanced explosions.”

“Do I look like the bardling's personal demolition squad?”, the other Witcher sneered. Eskel nudged the redhead's arm softly.

“I would be happy if you would consider being my demolition squad, brother.”

“Fine”, Lambert grumbled and nudged back reluctantly. Geralt and Vesemir exchanged pleased glances. So the matter was settled.

The minstrel knew the cellars. They were a special place for the Witchers and he avoided them because he didn't want to disturb them. Eskel preferred to meditate at Circle of Elements and the potions labs were the place where Vesemir and Geralt could spend hours discussing their refined recipes.

But now, as Jaskier knew there was a hidden corridor behind the ceiling-high pile of stones under the spiral staircase, the place attracted him almost magically. Nobody had exactly forbidden him to start the task on his own, so he sneaked down into the cellar one afternoon during the Witchers' daily training.

It was dark in the basement and he could hear the soothing, distant humming the Circle of Elements emitted. The tallow lamp he had brought allowed him to see most of the area around the stair landing, but nothing more. He started working, moving one stone after the other. Soon, his clothes were soaked in sweat.

Maybe there was no need to involve Lambert in this after all. Maybe he could do it on his own.

Jaskier hated being dependent on a person that didn't like him, even openly showed his aversion. The youngest Witcher reminded him of his father and his teachers at the Kreve temple school. No matter what he had done, how hard he had tried to please them, it had never been enough.

The adult part of his brain knew that there was a chance his relation to Eskel's younger brother would change for the better, but the boy Jaskier had been and still was inside of his mind struggled with his emotions and all the needs nobody had fulfilled over the greater part of his life.

He forcefully heaved a large stone out of the pile without even thinking what he was doing. The rocks began to slide with an ominous rumble and Jaskier jumped back, knocking the lamp over. Darkness and something heavy crashed down on him as he fell. He managed to scream as he hit the uneven ground and passed out.

The next thing he saw was a pair of amber eyes that reflected the shine of a lantern. Jaskier blinked in surprise and tried to sit up, but found his right leg trapped under the debris that had crushed down on him. He could feel a bloody bump on the back of his head and a dozen scratches everywhere on his body, but apart from that and sharp pain in his ankle, everything seemed to be fine.

“So, the little rat has caught himself”, the Witcher sneered and knelt down by Jaskier's side. He didn't even try to help him, only stared and that was menacing enough to send shivers through the minstrel's bruised body. “What a coincidence. These rocks could kill you, you know. Eskel would be so sad.”

Jaskier gritted his teeth. His temples pulsed with sudden anger that burnt away his pain like a roaring flame consuming a hayfield.

“I don't know why you behave like this, Lambert. And I don't even care. But I swear, if you do anything that hurts Eskel, I will burn you alive in your bed.”

Lambert slowly bent forward and Jaskier closed his eyes. His death would come quickly, he knew that. Just a rock crashing down on his head and then – nothing. But there was no promise of eternal peace. The bard dared to open one eye again and then hissed in pain as Lambert rolled away the stone that had held his leg captive. He yanked Jaskier to his feet and supported him with an arm around his ribcage, picking up the lantern with his free hand.

“Looks like your boot saved you from breaking the bone. Come on, bardling. Big brother will freak out soon enough, but it's better he does it up there than down here. The place is smelling of your blood.”

“What the -”, Jaskier squealed and cursed as he put some weight on his leg. “I thought you hated me.”

“I do. You are a pathetic little whiny gnashnab, but at least you really like my brother and don't just pretend.” Lambert grinned broadly. “Just needed to threaten to kill you to find out.”

“You're a prick.” Jaskier gritted and limped up the stairs. 

“Proud to be”, Lambert cackled and only stopped when they arrived at the kitchen and nearly bumped into Eskel, who came running from the banquet hall. Jaskier suddenly felt very guilty, although he knew it had been a silly accident. The last thing in the world he wanted to see was that hollow, terrified look in Eskel's eyes as they scanned him for more injuries.

“I'm fine, I'm fine”, he mumbled and sunk down on a wooden bench. His adrenaline ran off and the bruises started to ache. Pain hammered in his head and his ankle. All he wished for was a break from all the confusion that had crashed into his life like the wall in the basement. “Just a wrong structural analysis of some loose rocks.”

“You started digging by yourself?” Eskel's dark voice was filled with sheer disbelief. Something resonated in his tone, a vulnerability Jaskier had never heard before. The Witcher was terrified. The realization hit Jaskier like a hammer and his guilt burned a hole into his guts. “We told you this keep is dangerous for humans. Were you even thinking?”

Jaskier winced and stretched out his hand to catch the Witcher's wrist. He longed to touch the man he loved, needed to benefit from his strength and calmness, but first of all, he wanted to apologize for his dumb behavior.

But the dark-haired Witcher just stormed out of the kitchen, brushing past Geralt and Vesemir, who entered the firelit room in total puzzlement. Geralt growled lowly as he saw the dirt and the blood that covered Jaskier from head to toe. Lambert rose his hands in defense. His grin was sly but somehow saddened.

“Don't look at me. I dug him out and brought him up. My part here is done. Maybe someone should check on Eskel, he looks like shit.”

“I'll do it”, Vesemir sighed and gave the three men a dark look. “All of you, behave now. I mean it.”

Jaskier hung his head. He wondered if Eskel would forgive him.


	5. Eskel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More softness, more talks and a little bit of mutual pining. You know the game. :)

Eskel didn't stop although he heard Vesemir following him across to the courtyard. The Witcher wanted to smash something, to find a way to canalize the mess that Jaskier's view had inflicted in his heart. He was angry at the minstrel without any reason. He knew it had been an accident. But Eskel was no stranger to anger. He could get over it.

The panic was something he hadn't expected and it spiraled in his guts, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Eskel found it hard to breathe and even though the evening was clear and the autumn air crisp, he still felt the feeling clamping around his chest.

Witchers weren't supposed to be weak. Weakness killed as fast as a monster's claw. And yet, he had succumbed to it and found it impossible to leave the dark pit he had been thrown into. The first weeks with Jaskier had been easy. The minstrel was perfect at reading his audience, so he had adapted to Eskel's moods incredibly fast and supported him with his music, his friendly chatter, or just his silent company. 

At that point, Eskel had thought the bard was his brother's lover, but when he had come to realize that Jaskier was loving Geralt, but not in love with him, everything had changed. Eskel's first instinct had been to openly admit that he had feelings for the other man, but his lifelong experience of dealing with dangerous situations had advised him to wait. He had been planning to give it time, to explore their strange relationship thoroughly before investing too many feelings.

The current situation proved he had been right. Seeing Jaskier covered in blood and dust had knocked him down. Suddenly, he had become aware that the bard was human, an elusive creature who could easily be bent and broken. It only needed an arrow or a sword, severe sickness or just another dumb accident and Jaskier would die, his light extinguished within the bat of an eye.

Eskel wanted the minstrel to be happy during the short life span that awaited him. Jaskier was an incredibly gifted artist and he belonged in the courts and banquet halls of the Continent. Not a miserable keep in the middle of the Kaedweni mountains.

Hoping to find love at the side of the beautiful and talented young man would be selfish and unjust, as Eskel's world only existed on unstable grounds. All the security he had known in his life had been taken from him by destiny interfering with the simple plans he had once made as a boy.

“The lad will be fine”, Vesemir said and Eskel realized he had stopped in front of one of the side buildings that once had held the young Witcher's dormitories. He had walked this path countless times before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, but never again after the catastrophe that had destroyed the Wolf Witchers' home. “He's made of stout stuff. Managed to get along with Geralt all these years. Didn't blow Lambert's lab up although he would have deserved it.”

Eskel hummed helplessly instead of replying, but he knew his mentor deserved to see more than just his back. So he turned around and found himself in Vesemir's arms only a second later. Eskel tried to remember when the older man had hugged him for the first and last time. It felt like it had been hundreds of years ago, but as soon as he felt Vesemir's rough hands pat his back, he recalled that special day, the first time his mentor had been more like a father than a teacher.

It had been the evening when the mages had dragged Geralt out of the boys' dormitories to put him under the extra trials. Eskel had followed the group at safe distance and had sat in front of the closed door in the cellars, listening to the ghastly screams of agony from inside the room for hours.

Vesemir had found him there, drenched in silent tears, and had led him away from the terrible sounds. Back in the dorm, the old Witcher had hugged him tightly, ignoring that the instructors had been forbidden to offer solace to the boys they formed into merciless killing machines.

The memory became so vivid that Eskel could feel the long-forgotten sadness welling up behind his eyes again and he exhaled deeply, fighting hard to maintain his composure. Vesemir released him from his bear hug and encouragingly clapped his shoulders.

“Better, son?”, the older Witcher smiled and his kind eyes shone with genuine fondness. “I am so relieved to see you again. I wasn't so sure you would return this winter.”

Eskel gulped down another lump that had formed in his throat.

“Neither was I”, he admitted and showed a half-smile. “But it seems life has something more to offer.”

“Indeed”, Vesemir smirked and suddenly looked like a younger man. “So, let's ask the others how the _something_ is doing. Guess Geralt barked at him before putting him into bed.”

“I may have yelled enough for the two of us” Eskel murmured and was rewarded with another friendly nudge on his back that was strong enough to make him trip over.

“Jaskier is smart enough to know why you lost your temper. He won't hold a grudge for long.” Vesemir grinned again. “But there will be some impressive pouting during breakfast, I guess.”

The two men returned to the keep and as they found the hall and kitchen empty, both of them decided to retire for the night. Eskel stripped down to his braies and took a sponge bath in the bowl of water he had brought up from the kitchen. It had been an extremely hard day for all of them. Vesemir had pushed them through a hard training and he was extremely exhausted, but as he finally curled up in his bed, he found it hard to find sleep. He could hear murmurs through the wall that separated his and Geralt's room. It seemed that his brother and Jaskier were still awake and discussed something in a vivid tone.

Finally, there was an annoyed sigh loud enough that Eskel's eyes sprung open. Seconds later, Geralt's knuckles hit the door.

“Come in”, Eskel murmured and sat up again. His brother peeked into the room, face looking extremely bugged. Geralt only wore a nightshirt and failed miserably at looking as dignified as possible. Nevertheless, he delivered the message a certain person had sent him with.

“Jaskier refuses to sleep until you come and tell him you forgive him”, the white-haired Witcher announced with a frown. “Please, he will keep me up all night if you don't.”

Geralt presented the face of a man who was facing certain death and even if Eskel would have wanted to remain serious, he couldn't but chuckle and rise. His gloominess faded away like snow in the sunshine. Yes, he knew it wasn't a good idea to get too close to Jaskier. But he could always pretend he did this for Geralt and not for himself.

“The White Wolf, brought down by a poet. I will mention it in the chronicles of Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt answered with an extremely rude gesture and seized the moment as well as Eskel's now deserted bed to collapse on the mattress face down. The dark-haired Witcher chuckled again, but he couldn't deny feeling nervous as he walked over to the other room.

Jaskier was sitting in Geralt's bed, back leaning on the headboard. His tightly bandaged ankle rested on a cushion and his head wound had been treated with a hemostatic salve. The minstrel still looked shaken and a little grey around the nose, but his entire face lit up as he saw Eskel.

The Witcher became painfully aware he wore nothing but his braies and the way the young man looked at him sent a strange chill down his spine.

“You wanted to see me?”

Jaskier shifted uncomfortably under the sheets. He, too, only wore his underwear, because his washed doublet, trousers, and linen shirt were drying on a chair in front of the fire. A bedroll was spread out on the floor and it seemed Geralt had planned to stay the night there before the bard had used him as his messenger.

“Yes, I – uhm – wanted to apologize. Will you maybe sit with me? Staring up to you is sort of strange.”

Jaskier's elegant hand patted the mattress and there was hope in his eyes, but also fear and a strange shyness. It was strange for Eskel to realize that, although they couldn't be more different, they shared a mutual feeling. 

“I am not sure that's a good idea”, Eskel admitted slowly and Jaskier's smile faded away. “Look, we arrived early this year. I still could accompany you to the village we passed through before we mounted the Killer. It's a good place to stay during the winter.”

The minstrel shrunk visibly and a dull haze misted his eyes.

“You – want to get rid of me? I know I'm a burden and -.”

Eskel felt like being stabbed in the chest.

“No.” He rushed to Jaskier's side and sat down on the edge of the bed carefully. “You aren't a burden. I just don't want that anything like this ever happens again.”

The minstrel stared down at the blanket. His fingers fondled the fabric and Eskel stretched out his hand before even noticing what he was doing. Jaskier flinched but didn't pull away as their fingers intertwined. Still, the bard didn't look up. His voice was strangely monotonous.

“I am safe, Eskel. I have always been safe with you.”

The Witcher groaned. He was better at expressing his feelings than his brothers, but still, he struggled.

“I know it was an accident, Jaskier. There is no need to ask for my forgiveness”, Eskel murmured, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “But I don't know if I am strong enough to be that person for you. The one that keeps you safe.”

“And so you have decided to send me away.” Jaskier looked up again and he was so devastated that Eskel nearly choked on the self-hatred that flooded his body. “Instead of relying on your family and – on me, you made up your mind. You hate destiny for what it has done to you, but instead of deciding to fight for all the good that destiny could offer you, you gave up.”

Eskel wanted to get up, but the bard's hand held his with surprising vigour, pulling him closer. 

“I am sorry”, the Witcher mumbled, torn between his wish to be near the astonishing creature that could read him so well, and flee, being overwhelmed by his emotional conflict. He longed to reach out and touch Jaskier's face to find warm skin under smooth stubble.

“This wasn't a rebuke”, the bard explained softly. “I just wanted to let you know I understand. Sometimes, when you drown, you have no strength left to reach out and get help.”

The Witcher stared into Jaskier's kind eyes and indeed only found compassion, no reproaches. He hadn't hurt him. Relief bloomed under Eskel's ribs like a golden flower.

“As long as I know I have a place in your life, Eskel, I am fine. As for the rest, leave it to your family to protect me from my idiocy and take care of yourself.” A smug grin spread over Jaskier's face. “I even cleaned things up with Lambert. Kind of. He's creepy, though.”

“Sometimes”, the Witcher chuckled lowly and shook his head in disbelief over this strange change of topic. Until that very moment, he had considered he had fallen for Jaskier because a part of him considered the bard to be the straw he could cling to. But now he realized he loved him because the bard was warm-hearted and incredibly funny and well, just Jaskier. “I was terrified when I saw you standing in the kitchen, blood on your face”, he explained awkwardly, but still smiled as he leaned in, just an inch, to bathe in the bard's scent that was no longer hidden under the bitter smell of sadness. “Witchers shouldn't be afraid. But I think I will need to rethink some of the things I have learned.”

“Hm, excellent idea.” Jaskier's smile was incredibly soft. “As we speak of rethinking – is that Geralt snoring in your room?”

Eskel's head dropped and he grinned. He had to admit that Jaskier's presence was distracting enough to make him overhear the noises that rang through the corridor, emitting from Eskel's still open door.

“And in my bed.”

“Would you consider staying for the night?” The minstrel's voice was charmingly insecure, but he didn't try to cover his anxiety with his usual playful bantering chat. “I mean, we're both tired and it's a large bed, and we -. ”

“Alright.” It was Eskel's yearning that spoke, not his ability to reason. Thinking about how it would feel to lie down next to the bard robbed Eskel of the last amount of self-restraint. But he wanted it, even if it meant he would just have to watch Jaskier sleeping. “I will try to be careful with your -.”

He gestured towards the bard's bandaged ankle and Jaskier chuckled shakily.

“My – everything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I trust you.” The bard moved shifted towards the wall, very slowly letting go of Eskel's hand, but his gaze never left the Witcher, inviting him to join him. The smirk he presented crinkled the corner of his eyes. “But please don't steal the blanket.”

The Witcher laughed again and moved very carefully when he slid under the covers. He laid down next to the bard, who generously slid over the cushion to share. Every fiber of Eskel's being wanted to touch Jaskier, the long, slender body, the smooth face, but he didn't dare to move any further than he already had, so he just rolled over to his side to look at the bard. The perfect display of soft masculine beauty made him become painfully aware of his own burliness and his scarred skin.

The mattress and the linens were soft and smelled of Jaskier and Geralt, healing remedies and dust. The whole situation should have been soothing, as he knew every single aspect of it, but the combination was so unfamiliar it made Eskel nervous. Laying in his brother's bed, Geralt's most trusted companion by his side, and still, the dark-haired Witcher wasn't sure if it was really him Jaskier wanted to be with.

Sure, the minstrel had told him that he and Geralt weren't a couple, but that still didn't mean they weren't enjoying each other's company in a carnal way. Eskel didn't want to destroy a connection that was deeper than the one he shared with the bard.

He may had met Jaskier before Geralt, but Jaskier wasn't Julian, wasn't the boy he had saved in Redania so many years ago. He was a man, a person who had developed into something precious and unique. Eskel didn't feel he deserved what the bard offered him – or what he assumed Jaskier was offering because the Witcher hadn't dared to ask. Sometimes, answers were worse than unjustified hopes.

The minstrel didn't roll to the side, but he tilted his head and smiled gently. There were some small cuts on his temple that had stopped bleeding a while ago. They almost looked black in the light of the dying hearth fire.

“Good night, Eskel.”

The Witcher didn't answer, because he wasn't sure if his voice was steady enough. But the bard just gave him another sweet smile and was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

Darkness got its grip on the room and soon, Jaskier's steady breathing was the only sensory impression that mattered. Eskel hadn't slept in a bed with another person for nearly two years. The simple intimacy of just hearing someone else's heartbeat evoked feelings he had considered long gone.

The hunt for Deirdre had cost him every moment of the rare private life Witchers could afford to have. And when he had been forced to return to Kaer Morhen the winter before, he hadn't allowed himself to accept his brothers' and Vesemir's care and forced himself to move on as if nothing had been wrong.

But everything had been wrong and now, looking back, he understood that maybe, if he had accepted his family's help, things would have been easier for all of them. And there was more that dawned on him during the hours he spent in Geralt's bed, focusing on Jaskier and his soft snores, the warmth of the minstrel's body that moved closer and closer until his head rested on Eskel's shoulder.

His sadness hadn't started with Deirdre. It had started long ago, during the Witcher training and the trails that had engraved loneliness into his heart and bones. Witchers had always been meant to be solitary creatures, but Eskel had never been one, although he had tried hard to fulfill the task his mutations had assigned him. He had wanted and would always crave closeness and company, but he had suppressed his longing for all of his life and the gap between duty and desire had nearly destroyed him.

He had ignored Deirdre because he hadn't been ready to take over responsibility for her, but he suddenly wasn't so sure anymore if he really could have decided otherwise. In times when the Witcher community had been thriving he would have handed over the girl to all the other inhabitants of Kaer Morhen, sorceresses, mages and humans alike. The would have relieved him of the pressure of caring for the girl, as it had never been meant for a Witcher.

But when Eskel had claimed the law of surprise many years ago out of a reflex, there had only been four miserable men left with the genetic heritage of a community that had fallen apart, but they had still been bound to the ancient tradition of stealing children and bringing them up to be monsters.

It wasn't his fault alone. He had been a victim. But when he decided to move on, to learn and understand what had happened, he could leave all of this behind. Sometimes, healing began with accepting oneself.

It was the first time Eskel really believed he could forgive himself one day and and the jolt of contentment that rippled through his body finally allowed him to relax and he drifted into a deep and restful sleep.

The next morning confronted him with the strange feeling of being trapped in an unusual warmth and as his eyes cracked open, he realized Jaskier was as touchy in sleep as in his waking state. The young man had bedded his head on Eskel's shoulder and entangled his unhurt leg with Eskel's, pressing the most of his body against him.

It felt wonderful. Eskel didn't dare to move, too afraid to deal with what would possibly happen when Jaskier woke. But as this was inevitable, he decided he could enjoy it just a second longer. Or two.

The keep shook and the sound and rumble of a distant explosion rolled through the old fortress. Eskel sat up, but not before letting Jaskier slip back onto the mattress carefully. Puzzled, blue eyes opened and blinked sleepily.

“What was that?”, the bard mumbled. A triumphant yell resounded through the staircase and Eskel grinned.

“Lambert. I think he solved the problem you were confronted with yesterday.”

Jaskier exhaled slowly and relaxed again. It seemed that he trusted Eskel's judgment blindly and the Witcher's heart swelled with satisfaction again.

“That was nice”, Jaskier yawned and stretched lazily. The hem of his linen shirt slid up and revealed a well-toned belly covered in fine, dark hair. Eskel caught himself staring and looked away. Pale daylight flooded Geralt's room. They must had overslept.

“The explosion?”, Eskel asked sheepily, distracted by the sight.

“No, I don't particularly like explosions.” The bard sniggered and shot him a shy look under dark lashes, dark feathery half-moons touching his cheek. “I like how you held me. And I am sorry. I am afraid I am not only the Continent's most impatient, but also the clingiest person. - Do you mind?”

“No, I -.” Eskel smiled fondly, but something inside of his mind suddenly opposed to his wish to crawl back into bed. It left him unsettled, but then he recalled the thoughts that had occupied him during the night. A Witcher was always alert and didn't need comfort or pleasant company. But he was also a man and had endured a lot of hurt recently. So he needed to trust Lambert having blown up just the stones and not the load-bearing pillars in the underground. 

He sighed and slipped back under the warm blanket, turning to face Jaskier again. The bard looked better, but still paler than usual. “How is your head? And the ankle?”

“They hurt, but not that much, Geralt gave me some strange medicine yesterday. Wonder when it trails off.” The minstrel hummed and brushed a lock of hair out of his forehead playfully. “I passed out, though. Maybe I should stay in bed the whole day, being spoilt by a very handsome man.”

Eskel pressed his lips. The bard was known for his flowery expression and normally the Witcher was capable of sorting out if the musician spoke from his heart or used rhetorical figures to mock someone. But when it came to him, his anxiety spiked as soon as Jaskier referred to his outer appearance.

“Lambert!” There were heavy footsteps and a very angry voice shouting in the corridor. Vesemir, who bolted out of the library door. “What the hell? Come up here!”

The bard seemed to feel a little queasy about the conflict that was about to escalate. Again, Eskel thought that the wolves' keep wasn't the right place for a man whose past had been shaped by violence.

“Do you think your brother forgot to announce what he was planning?”

Eskel sighed. He could hear a heated argument emerging from the staircase and knew it was time to get up, intervene and take over the role he played in his strange little family. Lambert what a hothead who always took any bit of criticism to his heart and then shut down, so Eskel had learned to be his interpreter in moments like these, when Lambert had fucked up, although he had meant to do something good.

“Must have considered it to be an insignificant detail”, the Witcher rumbled and stretched before sitting up. He noticed Jaskier's appreciative gazing and dropped his arms. “I need to save Lambert from running the walls twenty times and us from his extremely bad mood afterwards.”

“Good luck,” Jaskier told him solemnly, but with a sassy twinkle in his eyes. He seemed to be a bit lost in the broad bed. When their glances met, he bit his lip and lowered his head. “Sorry for overstepping earlier. I know you're uncomfortable with praise. But could you answer one last question for me?”

Eskel's hand traced the line of his scars. They still hurt from time to time, but the skin was mostly numb now.

“Sure”, he shrugged, already thinking about what needed to be done to de-escalate the fight between his brother and his mentor. 

“Do you want to go out there or do you feel it's your obligation? I mean, Lambert is a grown up asshole. He can fight for himself.”

The Witcher wanted to reply with conviction, but found he couldn't. His own thoughts and feelings had led him into a cave where he had decided to die, so it was possibly time to rethink his first impulse again.

“He sure can”, Eskel mumbled and slid back under the sheets for the second time this morning. It was a thing he had never done before in his life. “You are wise for a man of your age.”

Jaskier laughed with glee, but the sentiment was tainted with melancholia.

“Some people need to grow up pretty fast. Witchers, sassy artists. But I heard they make great company.”

“So did I.”

They grinned at each other, like conspirational children enjoying a private moment of mischief. Then Eskel extended his arm and Jaskier didn't hesitate to slip into the comfortable position he had been staying in during the night. In the corridor, Lambert and Vesemir had resumed shouting at each other, but inside of Geralt's room, in the comfortable bed, two friends allowed themselves to drift into a healing slumber again.


	6. Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the story. Thanks to all of you who have been reading along :) In the end, Eskel and Jaskier deserved a little bit of softness, so I gave it to them.

Jaskier knew he needed help. He wanted to kiss Eskel – and more, actually, but he had decided to approach the matter step by step. In a normal situation, he would just go for it, trusting his infallible instincts and accept if things turned out to be good or bad. But this situation was special. Eskel was special and Jaskier didn't want to ruin things by going too fast.

The main problem was - he didn't know exactly if the Witcher was ready for any form of intimacy that went beyond snuggling and sharing a bed. Eskel had never exactly mentioned if he preferred men, women, or both, but as the Witcher was a person of many deep thoughts and secrets, Jaskier knew it would be wrong to just approach Eskel over dinner and ask him straight away.

He shivered when he thought about what could possibly go wrong if Eskel decided to withdraw from the blooming _something_ they had. It would lead to a winter of misery, with them being trapped in a crumbling keep in the mountains with no place to escape.

Jaskier wanted to make sure that Eskel understood his intentions, but in a way that wouldn't put too much pressure on the Witcher. The intimate night under the shared blanket had been truly wonderful, but Eskel had shown no intention to induce a repetition and so Jaskier hadn't, too.

He entered the banquet hall one morning, still limping and feeling as useless as an injured bard could be, and saw Geralt, who was having breakfast alone. The white-haired man was slurping the rest of his porridge out of his bowl, so Jaskier seized the opportunity and sat down on the bench next to him:

“Geralt, I need your help. It's about Eskel.”

The Witcher furrowed his brows.

“Is he alright?”

“I hope so”, Jaskier mumbled and fidgeted with his signet ring. “He's putting so much effort into setting up my room and I really wanted to finish the work on the hot springs so that he can relax in the evenings, but now -.” He sighed. “My ankle is still weak and Vesemir forbade me to go to the cellars. So I thought I could make something nice for Eskel, to thank him. Maybe you have an idea what pleases him?”

Geralt put his bowl back on the table with surprising calmness.

“Are you sure about this?”, the Witcher asked and his golden gaze penetrated Jaskier right to the core. The minstrel knew exactly that his oldest friend wasn't inquiring about planned gifts and that it was time to lay it on the line.

“Yes”, Jaskier declared solemnly and felt how he blushed, out of strange shyness and fear of rejection. “Absolutely sure.”

“Hm”, Geralt muttered and a rare smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. “He has a thing for desserts and sweet pastries.”

Jaskier felt how his face lit up. 

“Thanks, Geralt. I really appreciate your trust.”

The Witcher wasn't good with words, so the minstrel waited patiently until his friend was ready to talk.

“Jaskier, you have earned my trust many times. I am still sorry that I forgot about it when I blamed you for Eskel's decision.”

“It's alright. He's your brother. You care for him so deeply and you were terrified he could die.” Jaskier sighed as he remembered the painful moments in the cave and the confrontation with Geralt afterward. “At first, I was really angry with you, because -.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don't have any siblings. I couldn't comprehend what you feel for him. But when he recovered and I spent so much time with him, I finally understood that Eskel is still the man I remember from my childhood and whom I considered being part of my family. Or the family I had wished for. And now, there's - more.”

Jaskier bit his lip and lowered his gaze. It had been surprisingly hard to confess his feelings for Eskel to Geralt and he felt how nervousness crept through his guts. How would Eskel himself react? His old insecurities reminded him that he never had been good enough for anything and his hands clenched into fists under the tabletop.

“Then he deserves an excellent dessert”, Geralt murmured and finally stood to return his bowl to the kitchen. He patted Jaskier's shoulder gently. It was rare that the white-haired man initiated direct contact and the bard beamed with delight. “Smells like first snow out there, so they're out for hunt. I am on chore duty. You can help.”

Jaskier sprung to his feet, winced as he put weight on his ankle, and rushed into preparations. Geralt told him that they needed some more bread, so it was just natural to seize the opportunity and bake a honey cake for dinner. The bard spent the rest of the day in the small baking house at the courtyard, wrapped in his warmest clothes, as the temperatures dropped from hour to hour and the sky changed from a dark grey to a clear white.

The bard realized that it had been weeks since they had arrived at Kaer Morhen. He hadn't noticed how much time had passed, because living and working in the keep just felt natural, like something that was meant to be. He smiled at the thought and extended his hands to warm them at the oven. The line of freshly baked bread on the table filled him with pride and the scent of the honey cake lingered in the air.

Laughter rang over the yard and as Jaskier peeked out of the door, noticing that dusk was approaching quickly, he spotted Vesemir, Lambert, and Eskel coming through the gatehouse. Each of the younger men carried a veritable boar on their shoulders, while Vesemir held some pheasants and was rolling his eyes over something Lambert had said. Eskel smiled at his brother's antics and it was an open, warm emotion that awoke a myriad of butterflies in Jaskier's stomach.

“Something smells pretty good here!”, Lambert exclaimed and scanned the area for the source of the sweet aroma. “Ah, it's the bard, of course.”

Jaskier blushed as he realized that Eskel was looking in his direction. He suddenly became aware of the flour that covered his doublet and winter coat.

“Erm, I made honey cake for dinner”, he yelled back, louder than necessary to get rid of the anxiety balling up in his chest. 

“We love honey cake, bee bard!” Lambert grinned broadly and the men turned towards the game larder to hang the animals. Jaskier admired how the muscles in Eskel's back moved when the Witcher readjusted the boar on his shoulders. The bard sighed dreamily as he returned to the baking house.

When it was time, he used the wooden shovel to scoop the last loaves and the cake out of the oven and aligned them on the table to cool down. 

“Delicious.” The dark, familiar voice startled him and he spun around a little bit too fast. His ankle protested, but Jaskier only noticed the worried look in Eskel's eyes. “Sorry, didn't want to make you jump. Can I help you? Carry these up, I mean.”

“Well, thank you, but you are covered in blood and muck. I am pretty sure it doesn't go well with fresh bread.”

Eskel's face dropped and Jaskier flinched at his own idiocy. He was one of the Continent's most eloquent poets and now all he could produce was a snarky remark about dirt?

“Right. Gonna give me a sponge-down. Will fetch them later. Be careful with your ankle.”

The Witcher walked away and as soon he was out of earshot, Jaskier spent the next five minutes yelling 'Fuck!' at the walls of the baking house before he regained his composure and carried the cake back to the kitchen. Geralt was there, brooding over the right choice of herbs for the stew he had prepared for dinner.

“So, where is everyone?”, Jaskier asked awkwardly. Geralt just shrugged and shoved thyme into the pot.

“Lambert is working in the lab, Vesemir went to the library and Eskel muttered something about taking a bath.”

“Well, I maybe told him he was dirty”, the bard hummed and began to work on the filling of the cake, whipping extra honey and blueberry jam. “Fool that I am.”

Geralt chuckled – really chuckled, that bastard – and Jaskier threw a towel at his head. His mood improved when he tried a piece of his sweet masterpiece. He moaned in delight and called it a day.

Soon, everyone gathered around the table at the banquet hall. The Witchers gulped down the stew in a rush, but when Jaskier brought the cake, everyone froze in awe.

“Are we celebrating something?”, Vesemir asked calmly, but the sparkle in his kind eyes gave away how much he enjoyed his first bite.

“Should have cake every evening.” Lambert's approach on his dessert was a feral one and crumbs flew all over the table. “Seems like bee bard is finally good for something.”

Jaskier tried not to take it personally. He knew Lambert was a prick, but he understood that it was his way of reacting to situations that made him uncomfortable. And Lambert was very uncomfortable with nearly everything that had to do praises – giving or receiving them sent him into a spiral of uneasiness. An angry dog was nothing in comparison to flustered Lambert.

“Shut it, Lambchop.” Geralt's fork pointed directly at the young Witcher's left eye. “Just for once.”

“Don't call me that, Gerry!”

Eskel's hand crashed at the tabletop and everybody fell silent, shocked about the unexpected outburst. Vesemir furrowed his brow in concern.

“I am trying to enjoy my dessert here”, Eskel said lowly, but with genuine warmth. Miraculously, Lambert just blinked like a surprised owl and stayed calm, helping himself with another slice of cake.

Jaskier concentrated on his own plate. The crackling fire and the joy about Eskel's reaction filled him with warmth and soon, his cheeks felt like they were glowing in the semi-darkness of the hall.

They shared a bottle of mead after dinner and soon, the inside of Jaskier's head seemed to be filled with honey-sweet stickiness. The lightness that came with it was just wonderful and all of his sorrows dissolved into tipsy relaxation. Geralt and Lambert started playing Gwent to have a justification for yelling insults over the table. Vesemir brought a book and pretended to read. The old Witcher's eyelids dropped from time to time and only flew open when Lambert's tankard hit the tabletop angrily.

Eskel had a second piece of cake with the mead and stayed calm, true to his nature.

“Damn, the bread.” The words tumbled from Jaskier's lips accidentally, because he really felt no need to disturb the familiar banter. “It's still out there.”

“I forgot it”, Eskel admitted and stood in an instant. “Gotta get them before it absorbs moisture.”

“I'm coming, too!”, Jaskier blurted out and nearly fell off the bench. “I could carry – the lantern”, he added lamely. No Witcher really needed artificial light at night. But to his surprise, Eskel just nodded and Jaskier scurried away to get his coat and the lantern. 

As they left the hall, the bard's jaw dropped. Thick snowflakes tumbled from the overcast dark sky and had already covered the ground with a thin white blanket. The cold hit him like a hammer, but the crisp air in his lungs felt so good he inhaled it deeply.

They made their way to the baking house in comfortable silence. The embers still glowed in the dark as they entered and it was slightly warmer than outside. Jaskier lowered the lantern to the table and enjoyed the marvelous sight of the mellow light on the Witcher's face. The scars were nothing more than red-golden lines, a beautiful transcript of Eskel's violent history.

Jaskier had always known how much he loved Eskel, but now, as he had seen how hard the Witcher had been fighting day by day to recover, he couldn't put in words how he felt. 

“You know you're stuck with us now”, Eskel hummed and began to put the bread into a sack he had brought from the hall. The lines on his forehead deepened visibly. “The road will be impassable by tomorrow morning. For humans.”

“I'm aware of that”, Jaskier hadn't stopped observing Eskel's face. His shrug was feather-light. Kaer Morhen felt like home and the rest of the Continent only held memories of his former struggles and failures. “But I don't want to leave, so I don't care.”

“Good.” Eskel's hand stilled and he looked down, avoiding Jaskier's gaze. The minstrel could sense the pulse of blood in his ears. His nervousness spiked once again, as he realized that this could the moment that decided if his future would be a happy or a miserable one.

“I made this cake for you. Because I am so glad you're helping me with my room and -.” Jaskier smiled, but his lips trembled. “Look, I just wanted to show you I'm not useless or ungrateful. But I couldn't tell you, because after that night in Geralt's room – oh dear, this is not going well.”

A slow and shy smile spread over Eskel's face and Jaskier praised the gods he hadn't ruined everything.

“You aren't useless. It was me who should have – said something”, the Witcher murmured. The tips of his fingers traced the scarred side of his face, an unconscious gesture he always made when he was feeling insecure. “But I wasn't sure how you would take it.”

“Take what?” Jaskier's stomach clenched again. He was sure Eskel would reject him. Had the cake been too blunt? The invite to his bed? Would Eskel finally decide what to do with him, with Jaskier, the self-proclaimed Continent's most impatient person? The only way of dealing with pressure was to endure it – or to evade it at any cost.

“Me asking if you're sharing Geralt's bed.”

Jaskier's eyes nearly dropped out of their sockets. Crazy hope raced through his veins.

“I told you we weren't a couple”, he breathed and threw his hands into the air. “And by _couple_ I meant - oh. I am a poet. I should have been more precise about it.” He rubbed his forehead. “All of the time, you assumed Geralt and I were making out?”

Eskel shrugged and concentrated on the bag in his hands.

“The bed smelled like both of you”, the man simply declared. “So I couldn't know.”

“Holy Melitele”, Jaskier whispered hoarsely. “Eskel, you thought I would invite you to the same bed I fucked your brother in? Which I _didn't_ , because he is my best friend, but nothing more than that.” Although he had never been ashamed about his reputation as an experienced seducer, the absence of Eskel's denial felt like a stab to his heart. “We take turns using the bed because I am a whiny, sissy human who refuses to sleep on the floor every night.”

The Witcher remained silent. He closed the bag and lifted it on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. For Jaskier, the baking house suddenly felt cold and lonely. It was hard to stay calm, but he cared about Eskel too deeply to lash out at him.

All of his childhood terrors came back. The fear of abandonment, the feeling of never being enough, no matter how hard he tried. Of being too much for a man like his Witcher who deserved somebody who matched his calm personality, who was good at respecting personal boundaries and was content to wait patiently for Eskel to open up.

Obviously, this person wasn't him.

“I – am not used to people wanting me.” Eskel's voice was barely audible. “Especially someone like you.”

Jaskier's heart missed a beat.

“Like me? A man who flees the responsibilities of life because he clings to a childhood he should have gotten over a long time ago?” The bard knew he was too dramatic, but he couldn't contain the emotions whirling in his chest anymore. 

“No.” Eskel shook his head and stepped towards the door before Jaskier had the chance to stop him. “Come on, now. It's cold. The others are probably waiting.”

“Yeah”, the bard mumbled and picked the lantern up with a shaky hand. “Let's go.”

A gush of wind pressed snow into his eyes as he followed Eskel outside. He blinked, thankful for the sensory distraction, and was proud that he didn't slip, although he knew he had already made a complete fool of himself anyway.

The heat of the banquet hall engulfed him like a warm embrace and he wanted to rush directly back to the table but discovered they were alone in the hall. Vesemir, Geralt, and Lambert had left way too early that night. Suspiciously early. He sighed, as his plan to drink himself into oblivion had just been ruined by well-meaning matchmaking monster hunters.

“Jaskier?” Behind the bard's back, a soft thumb announced that a sac of bread had just hit the ground. “Someone so – special.”

The bard's frozen brain needed some seconds to put two and two together. He turned around slowly and dared to meet Eskel's gaze, anxious about what he would find there. The view surprised him. Eskel was scared, too. His dark amber eyes shone with undisguised desperation Jaskier had seen during the Melitele sanctuary countless times.

“I'm not special.” Of course, he had tried to prove to the world that he was indeed one of a kind. But he didn't want Eskel to judge him by the jester's mask Jaskier presented to everyone. He wanted to be seen as the man he was, with all of his flaws and anxieties. Slowly, he placed the lantern at a nearby table. “I'm just – myself. A little chipped on the edges and very much an idiot – sometimes.” He shrugged with a crooked grin, tired of pulling himself together. The sensation of being torn between hope and disappointment had been straining his nerves to their maximum. “That's what you get if you want it. But if you don't or if you need more time, I'm -.”

Jaskier wasn't exactly sure where his nervous babbling would have lead him, but luckily, he wasn't given the opportunity to find out. Eskel was on him in a second and pulled him into an embrace that pressed the air out of Jaskier's lungs.

The kiss wasn't perfect as their noses collided first and then, they nearly missed each other's mouth. Jaskier felt a pang of panic. He wasn't sure if Eskel's scarred upper lip hurt when touched, but as soon as the bard realized that the Witcher's mouth touched his lips with the same ferociousness he felt, the bard sighed happily and melted into the kiss. 

Eskel tasted like honey and thyme. The faint scent of leather and soap surrounded him, familiar and soothing and Jaskier allowed his knees to wobble as their lips parted for a moment. Eskel held him close, being as strong and warm as Jaskier remembered it from the night in Geralt's bed.

“Sorry about saving the bread first”, Eskel mumbled with a smirk and Jaskier couldn't but giggle at that. “Food is important up here. It's going to be a long winter.”

“I hope so”, the bard murmured. He adored the softness on Eskel's face, the vulnerability the Witcher showed openly, just for him. “Would you like to – go somewhere else? I mean, the hall is lovely and all that, but the draught from the door is a bit chilly and you wouldn't want a man with bread on his boots freezing to death.”

He looked down ostentatiously at the bag that had somehow gotten between their feet. Eskel smiled and picked it up, but he also grabbed Jaskier's hand and dragged him into the kitchen, where they first stored the bread and then kissed again, leaning against the wall next to the hearth.

They kissed on the stairs, in the corridor in front of Eskel's door, and when they tumbled through the room, straight towards the bed. Jaskier unclasped his coat and the complicated buttons of his woolen doublet. A quick wave of the Witcher's hand ignited the logs in the fireplace and only then Jaskier realized how cold the air really was. His shoulders trembled, it wasn't because of the temperatures, but because of the feeling of Eskel's heavy body pressing him into the soft mattress.

“Are you really sure?” The Witcher's fingers carefully traced Jaskier's jawline, descended to the crook of his neck and the bard shivered with anticipation.

“I am”, he whispered and lifted his head to press his lips on Eskel's scared cheek, the touch light as a possible. His heart somersaulted again as he noticed the Witcher didn't turn his head away, as he had done it countless times before, out of shame and insecurity. “It makes me so glad you finally feel safe with me, dear heart.”

Instead of a verbal answer, Eskel kissed him again, more passionate this time. Their tongues entangled, tasting each other in slow, delicate movements. Strong hands tugged Jaskier's shirt out of his trousers and caressed his chest, tracing down the line of hair that covered his skin.

The bard moaned happily at the touch, but he had too much experience to miss the sudden hesitation in Eskel's movements. 

“What is it?”, he asked and pulled his lover close, reversing the roles they had chosen during their first night together. This time, it was his shoulder who supported Eskel's head, as the Witcher sighed and buried his face in the soft fabric of Jaskier's soft linen shirt. “You can tell me.”

“It's been a while”, Eskel whispered and hummed a slightly embarrassed laugh into Jaskier's shoulder. The bard just smirked and peppered Eskel's head with tender kisses. The sexual tension didn't leave his body and his trousers were uncomfortably tight, but he knew it wasn't the time to rush things. So he sent his fingers on their way and he caressed Eskel's broad shoulders and back with languid strokes, enjoying the feeling of simple closeness.

“Well, I can wait, love.” The bard really hoped his groin would accept the delay of his plans as fast as his head already had. But the way how Eskel's firm hand rested on the naked skin between his shirt and the waistband of his trousers wasn't helpful. “Your honesty is gorgeous, you know?”

The Witcher suddenly propped himself up on his forearm and stared down at him, eyes filled with insecurity. Jaskier's breath hitched at that sight.

“What did you just call me?” Eskel's dark voice was filled with awe.

“Gorgeous?” Jaskier frowned and then realized what he had just said. “Oh.” He smiled softly. “You mean _love_? It's the truth. I mean, at first, it was only a crush. How many boys can claim that a heroic Witcher casted Axii on them to save their lives? But now I'm pretty sure I love you.”

“Jaskier -.”

The expression of shock on Eskel's face that gradually changed into shy joy was one of the most beautiful things Jaskier had ever witnessed in his life. He gently tugged at the seam of Eskel's tunic and pulled him into another tender kiss. There was no resistance. Their lips touched again, silent expression of genuine emotions.

“Shall we rest for a while?”, the bard suggested. His fingers carded through Eskel's hair, played with the dark strands until he felt how the powerful body finally relaxed and sank against his shoulder again.

“Am I too heavy?”, the Witcher asked quietly.

“No, love”, Jaskier murmured and hugged Eskel even closer, simply enjoying the overwhelming warmth that simmered in his chest. Tonight, this was enough. He was enough. And tomorrow, they would wake up together and face another day. Jaskier wasn't impatient anymore. He was at peace. They had all the time in the world. “To me, you are perfect.”


End file.
